The Rebellion
by TwentyRoses92
Summary: After witnessing Cedric's death and Voldemort's return, Harry begins his research and training. Albus Dumbledore has left him in the dark for too long; can his friends understand? Rated M for later violence and sexual scenes. Harry/Ginny. After GoF.
1. Going Home

Harry Potter had never before looked more forlorn. He supported a brilliant black eye, an injured shoulder, ribs that seemed to creak as he moved, and three fingers that were purpling before his eyes. Looking up into his dusty mirror, Harry thought there might have been a small chip in one of his teeth as well.

Harry had returned to Number Four Privet Drive no more than 72 hours previously. Normally, Harry begun each summer with a feeling of dread upon returning to the Dursley's, but his happiness from the return trip via Hogwarts Express, with his friends in tow, usually remained a small light in his life for several weeks. This year, however, that happiness did not slowly ebb away as the Dursley's put a fight into making his life miserable – that light of happiness turned tail and ran.

From the moment Harry carried his trunk up the stairs (making certain to bang it along the steps and walls), he had been in a world of hurt. For that discrepancy, he had gone without dinner and breakfast the next morning.

To the surprise of his portly cousin Dudley, Harry had been picking fights. Whether it was over the television to watch the news or the last breakfast scone, the Dursley's had never witnessed such a cantankerous Harry. When these fights left the spotlessly clean house, Dudley resorted to his favorite pastime; Dudley very much enjoyed a Harry-shaped punching bag. Harry, however, had not sat still or run. He fought back. Although no match for Dudley's size, his wiry physique usually allowed for Harry to get in at least a couple square punches.

Dudley was not pleased. The painful, but overall harmless, punching had evolved into much more brutish style. Dudley Dursley would certainly not allow his little cousin Harry to beat him physically.

Harry paid dearly. Aside from Dudley's physical abuse, Aunt Petunia continued to withhold meals for every scrap he found himself in.

To the astonishment of the entire Dursley clan, Harry Potter maintained his newfound cool and uncaring demeanor, even through their abuse.

Staring at his reflection, Harry's mouth twitched into a grim smile. If only Hogwarts could see him now, would they still believe him to be the Chosen One? Would rumors still circulate that _he_ had actually murdered his competition in the Triwizard Tournament?

Hermione's voice echoed somewhere around the back of his mind. Harry knew what she would term his behavior: destructive. Hermione was always trying to diagnose Harry's problem; to fix him.

But what did Hermione know? She had been sitting calmly in the stands, no doubt cheering with her classmates, while Harry had been forced to watch Cedric Diggory die. While Hermione spoke seriously about the tournament to her best mate Ron, Harry dueled for his life.

No, Harry thought, Hermione would not understand.

Neither would Ron, he realized. So much of Ron's world revolved around food and Wizard's Chess that Harry was often surprised to hear him speak of anything else. Ron had actually envied Harry's involvement in the tournament! As if battling the most evil wizard the world had ever known was anything to be envious of.

Since returning to the Dursley's, Harry had thought of Cedric and Voldemort, and little else. Harry thought of Voldemort and his surely rising power during the day, and Cedric's dead, silent face haunted his dreams at night.

Harry could see no route that wasn't destructive for him at this point. Lord Voldemort wanted him buried six feet under, and Albus Dumbledore treated Harry as a pawn in the game between good and evil. Every letter Harry had yet received bore some mark of having been searched and edited by the Headmaster himself. Did Harry really need to be sheltered so severely?

After having been told, once again, that he was not old enough to understand the repercussions of his premature involvement with the war, Harry's relations with Albus had soured. Albus seemed to think that a fully informed Harry would run rashly into battle.

An uninformed Harry, however, was undeniably bitter.

Harry groaned at the same moment as his stomach. Scrunching his nose, he resigned himself to hunger. He crossed his fingers in hopes that he would not cross the path of any of the Durlsey's on his trip to the kitchen.

Skipping the stairs he knew to creak, Harry slipped quietly to his destination, though it was early in the day; Uncle Vernon was at work, and Aunt Petunia was surely spying on the neighbors. Harry chose to err on the side of caution nonetheless.

After nicking a particularly large mango, Harry made to steal back to his room. He was halfway up the stairs when another human being appeared.

"Hi ya, Harry."

Harry paused, looking upward. He opened his mouth to speak, but found it dry; Harry hadn't spoken to another human since his return to Little Whining. He cleared his throat and tried once more.

"Hi, Stephen."

"Yikes, summer hasn't been kind, has it?" Stephen answered, taking in Harry's appearance. Stephen rolled up his own sleeve to show a purpling mark where finger lines could just be seen. "Haven't entirely escaped your cousin myself."

Harry smiled sympathetically at the boy. Stephen attended Smeltings with Dudley. Unlike Piers Polkiss, Dudley's nasty best friend, Stephen did not willingly set foot in Number Four Privet Drive. After failing his general biology course, Smeltings asked Stephen (a straight A student) to tutor Dudley, as they lived in the same neighborhood.

"Insufferable, isn't he?" Harry returned. Although they were not friends, spending much of the year at different schools and living in entirely different worlds, Harry still found he liked Stephen. Dudley did not feel similarly.

Stephen was shaking his head. "All we were learning was Newton's Third Law. Really, is that so hard?"

"Remind me which that is again?" Harry feigned a forgetful look. He hoped Stephen would chalk his forgetfulness up to the summer holidays.

"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

"Oh, of course. Always mix it up with the second law."

Stephen nodded in an understanding matter; Harry was merely relived his excuse made sense.

"All I'm trying to do is explain it. It's so simple!" Stephen exclaimed. "Then he starts going on about how I'm a know-it-all who really needs to be acquainted with his fists."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Dudley knew what the word acquainted meant?"

Stephen chuckled appreciatively. "Good one, Harry. Anyway, I suppose I better be off. Mum's making lunch soon. Care to join?"

"That's alright," Harry declined politely. He held up his mango. "I've got some studying of my own to do."

"Good man," Stephen commended. He held out his hand for Harry. "Good luck trying to escape Dudley."

Harry grasped his hand firmly and smiled in return. "Good luck trying to teach science to him. I imagine it's a bit like teaching an elephant to step quietly."

Stephen jumped the last few steps, chuckling at Harry's joke as he made for the door. Sure he was once again alone, the smile slipped from Harry's face as he made for his room once more.

Sinking onto his bed, Harry bit his teeth into his lunch. His stomach growled in a satisfied manner. Having little else to do, Harry opened his trunk and tossed every book he owned onto his bed. His glare became more pronounced as he went, realizing he had previously read every one. Being texts for school, he knew each front and back.

Harry glared at Hedwig's empty cage. He heavily considered writing to his godfather, Sirius. Sirius would certainly know many good and useful books, especially for a wizard in Harry's position. However, Harry was also certain that Professor Dumbledore would be watching the mail, and he would not approve of Sirius sending Harry any reading material that was not strictly for school.

With a thought niggling at the back of his head, Harry stole out of his room once more and back into the halls. He tossed his mango into the wastebasket in the living room as he settled by the bookshelf. Scanning the texts, he found the large map of the United Kingdom he was looking for. Harry unfolded it, careful not to tear the old paper.

His eyes lit up slightly upon seeing the proximity of Surrey and London – thirty miles to the northeast. A mere thirty miles separated Harry from the closest magical community (that he knew of): Diagon Alley.

Hermione's voice came back in full force, warning him away from leaving the safety of his home. Harry shooed it away, and he returned the map to its place on the shelf.

Striding to the broom cupboard under the stairs, Harry withdrew a small bobby pin from the depths of his pocket. He repressed a shiver; not long ago had he been forced to live in the very closet before him. He began to fiddle with the lock, and in no time at all felt it click open. Sighing in relief, Harry yanked open the door to find the only possession Uncle Vernon had firmly not allowed Harry to keep in his bedroom – his broom.

He reached forward and took it gently. Every part of Harry ached to fly once more.

Shaking his head, Harry closed the door and returned the lock. He peered up the stairs to ensure Dudley's absence before dashing to his room.

Harry glanced out the window. It was cloudy, but sun still peaked through the skies. If he left at dark, the shops in Diagon Alley would surely be closed. He sighed, hoping he would be fast enough to escape any wandering eyes.

He dawned his cloak and pulled the hood high over his head. He pushed the window open and climbed onto the sill. With one quick look around, Harry jumped from the window. For an instant, he felt his stomach drop as the broom dipped; it quickly compensated for his weight, however, and rocketed through the sky. Harry gave a whoop of excitement; this was the first time in weeks he had felt so good.

Not wanting to waste time or draw the eye of a skyward-looking muggle, Harry angled his broom directly upward and shot into the sky. It was several moments before he broke through the clouds, a light dew covering his skin. The sun was brighter from his position, and he grinned like a giddy schoolgirl.

Harry withdrew his wand from his pocket and muttered one of the few spells allowed outside of Hogwarts. The Ministry of Magic had made an exception to the law, allowing the most basic of survival spells to slip underneath the radar. His wand spun to life and pointed just slightly to his right.

Satisfied with his wand as his compass, Harry angled his broom in the right direction and shot off. He would be landing in London in less than half an hour.

Harry took his time to enjoy his flight, but it ended all too soon. Before he was ready, he was dipping down quickly out of and back into the clouds as he searched for a place to land. Finally, he spotted a little park just far enough from the infamous Leaky Cauldron. Although traffic was heavy, he hoped Muggle ignorance would keep him hidden as he rocketed to the ground.

Landing smoothly for such a long drop, Harry dashed away to the little shed he had spied from the sky. He fiddled with the lock, thanking the gods above that it was similar to the lock on his cupboard under the stairs. It popped open easily and Harry made haste in moving several brooms and rakes to the side. He hid his broom underneath, praying no park maintenance crew would come working on such a dreary day.

Harry pulled off his cloak altogether. It would attract far too much attention in the Muggle world. He strode purposefully toward the bustling streets, blending in well with the crowds. Only when he reached the old wooden sign that decorated The Leaky Cauldron did Harry replace his cloak. He drew the strings tight as he pulled up his hood.

Without a glance backward, Harry opened the door. Tom the bartender called to him, but it was merely a greeting he would give any patron. Harry was thankful Tom could not see him full.

Harry crossed the pub quickly, avoiding eye contact with any of its patrons. He pushed open the door and entered the small alley behind. Raising his eyes for the first time, Harry couldn't help but grin at the brick wall in front of him. It seemed ages ago Hagrid had showed him its secrets beneath.

Harry stepped forward and tapped each brick with a sharp movement. The bricks shivered beneath his wand, slowly moving away into a large archway. Before Harry could even spy the streets, he could smell the ice cream from Florescue and the ingredients from the Apothecary.

Harry was home.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"My, young man, you sure have quite the book list."

Harry glanced up at the man behind the counter of Flourish and Blotts. His eyes were still shadowed behind his hood, but he quickly noticed this was not a rarity in the Alley now. Many people walked with their heads down and hoods up. Although most had not believed the rumors of Lord Voldemort's return, it seemed that caution still hung heavily in the air. Harry nodded concisely to the shop keep.

"Summer reading," Harry grunted. His voice sounded cracked, even to him.

"I admire a man with a love for books," the elderly man replied as he looked through the pile. "Books on the Ministry and the previous war? You must believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indeed returned."

An eerie silence descended around them as the few other customers heard his remarks. Harry nodded once more.

"But better safe than sorry, I suppose," the man continued, unaware of the tense air.

"Better prepared than dead on the spot," Harry grumbled.

The man looked up at Harry with curious eyes. He continued ringing up the purchases, however, with a sharp look from Harry. Soon, Harry was striding from the shop with two full bags of books. He stopped to replenish his potions supply at the Apothecary and continued down the road. Harry was quite thankful he had thought to withdraw a large amount of money during his last visit to Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Chances of running into someone he knew was high if he had to venture to the bank; that was a chance he was glad to not have to take.

With a glance to either direction, Harry found himself slipping into an alley just across from the Magical Menagerie. He had no premeditated wish to enter Knockturn Alley, but the idea had come to him while flipping through a book at Flourish and Blotts. He was reading a passage on the supposed fall of Voldemort when he came across a term he didn't know. The glossary defined it as a dark practice of those who follow Voldemort, which was quite vague in Harry's opinion. If he planned to be informed on the upcoming war, he would need more information than the ministry willingly put into books. He needed a book that felt no reservations about exploring and explaining the Dark Arts. Knockturn Alley, Harry knew from a previous adventure, would surely supply him with just that.

Harry stole a glance upward as he walked by Borgin and Burkes. He shuddered, quite happy he would not be venturing there. Several shops down stood a vile looking shop with a sign claiming to sell literature. Harry held back a snort; he sincerely doubted anything there could classify as literature.

Harry entered nonetheless. No bell alerted the shop keep to his arrival, as was customary of the shops in Diagon Alley. Ignoring the draft at his ankles, Harry strode to the first shelf and began to pick up books at random. He avoided anything covered in chains or blood; he was quite certain one book snarled at him. He picked up several books that looked interesting, including one titled simply 'Riddle'.

Purchases in hand, Harry strode to the front. He set his books on the counter and cleared his throat. Moments later, an elderly, strict looking man hobbled from the back of the store. He glared at the hooded man holding his books.

"I would like to purchase these," Harry said slowly, altering his voice as best he could.

The man snarled at him. "Got the money for it, eh?"

Harry nodded curtly. The man picked up the first book and turned it over in his hands. "A follower?"

"Interested," Harry lied, knowing the man was referring to Voldemort's infamous band of followers, the Death Eaters.

The man grinned nastily and shook his head. His response was sarcastic, however. "What a brave soul. 35 galleons."

Harry cringed inwardly at the price, but handed the man the coins nonetheless. He picked the books off the counter and turned to leave.

"What's your name?" the man asked, although it was obvious he was regarding Harry with suspicion. "Don't recognize you."

"Distant relative of the Zabini's," Harry drawled, throwing out the first name he thought of.

The man's demeanor shifted. "Give them my regards."

Without an answer, Harry returned to the streets and quickly to Diagon Alley. He felt the need for a hot shower after strolling through the depths of Knockturn Alley. Hastily, he returned to the Leaky Cauldron and then the busy London streets. He was pleased to find his broom had been unmoved as he wiggled it from the shed. Harry slipped the handle of his bags over the handle of his broom and pushed off roughly from the ground.

After another invigorating flight, Harry found the streets of Little Whining beneath him once more. Locating his bedroom window, he didn't slow as he shot directly through to his room. He rolled onto the floor, not bothering to suppress the grin that accompanied him after a bit of flying. Harry's grin widened as he thought about his day.

His impromptu (and dangerous) trip to London had resulted in two things: an arsenal of new books and a very renewed, fiery Harry.


	2. Proverbial Old Coot

Harry Potter would have smacked himself had he not been laden down with so many heavy, ancient books.

Returning to his room, Harry found it in the exact state he left it previously: an utter mess. After setting his purchases on the floor, he made to reorganize his trunk and return his school texts to their places. Harry kicked open his trunk with a toe and immediately noticed the silky bit of fabric that covered a few extra pairs of socks he neglected to unpack.

Harry really would have smacked himself if his hand were free.

Setting his books on the floor, Harry carefully removed his father's invisibility cloak, allowing the odd material to flow over his palms. How had he forgotten he owned such a valuable object? It would have saved him a full stomachache of worry as he had darted through the London park, trying to locate a spot away from muggle eyes to launch himself into the air. Harry felt downright ignorant.

He carefully placed the cloak on his knees as he reorganized his trunk. It was mostly just books now, as his summer attire was currently strewn all over the floor of his bedroom.

Shaking his head once more, Harry folded his father's cloak and returned it to the trunk.

He next made for the window, poking his head out before he drew the curtains shut. Although his Aunt Petunia wouldn't be spying on him from the window, he certainly would not put the idea past the other neighborhood housewives. What was that old muggle saying - birds of a feather stick together? Regardless, Harry felt the need to take caution. He had some dangerous books in his possession, after all.

Those, however, he set aside for the time being. He reached, instead, for a harmless book he had purchased from Flourish and Blotts. Its cover was a deep green; the crest of the Ministry gleamed up at him. He ran his fingers across the emblazoned black crest before turning directly to the index. While he intended to one day read the book in it's entirety, he had more pressing questions; in fact, he had a question that had burning relentlessly since the moment his feet had touched the pavement of Privet Drive.

Harry had taken special notice of the magic that coursed through the property of Number Four Privet Drive. Quite honestly, he had never before noticed it. It was not, in the least, as strong as the guards surrounding, say, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but it was undeniably there.

It could be one of two things: the protection of his mother's final sacrifice, carried on through her insufferable sister, or the doings of the Ministry of Magic to keep his underage self in check.

Or, Harry thought for the first time, perhaps a combination of the two.

Harry scanned the index with his fingers; he found an entry entitled _Underage Wizardry, p. 3356_.

Harry turned to the page in question and began skimming the paragraphs. Coming to one he thought might answer his question, he read carefully.

_The Trace, developed in 1576 by Walter Grimm, activates automatically upon a child's formal training to become a developed witch or wizard. This begins almost universally at age eleven, when magical children begin their schooling. Similarly, the Trace breaks automatically upon the morn of the child's seventeenth birthday (eighteenth in areas of Russia and Slovakia). The Trace serves as a charm to help the Ministry of Magic ensure the safety of underage witches and wizards. If a child performs magic outside the grounds of their selected school, said Ministry officials are informed. The Trace cannot distinguish who cast the spell – therefore, it is the duty of magical parents to enforce strictly the rule of no underage magic upon children in their presence. The Trace was originally devised to monitor magical students of non-magical heritage. It is now used commonly throughout the rest of Europe, Asia, and North America._

Harry was not sure of his present feelings. As the Trace did not track any one person, according to the text, it explained perfectly why Harry had been blamed for the bit of magic performed by Dobby the house elf two summers previously.

This was not, however, what interested Harry.

After witnessing the return of Lord Voldemort only two weeks ago, Harry had sat down with his Gryffindor friends (those who would believe him, at any rate) and warned them to take extra care this summer. Harry was certain that Lord Voldemort would, one day, find he could use Harry's friends against him. Harry had warned how twisted and powerful Lord Voldemort could be, only to be seconded by Ginny. She went on to murmur that Voldemort had murdered his own parents before leaving Hogwarts. While it was news, it hardly came as a surprise to Harry.

On the train, Harry had mourned his loss of magical ability for the summer when Ginny's story had reoccurred to him – how had a younger Voldemort killed his parents while still underage? Did he have a magical accomplice that allowed the Trace to simply assume the magic did not belong to Tom Riddle Jr.?

Harry had posed his question to both Ron and Hermione, but they seemed as stumped as he. Although, they hardly put as much energy into the enigma: they were both still treating him as though he was as fragile as tissue paper.

Harry could not help to wonder how Riddle had completely escaped pursuit by the Ministry. If Ginny's story was true (Harry could only assume it was, as diary-Riddle had told it to her at length), Riddle had molded the mind of his uncle until he procured a confession from the unfortunate man.

Harry was so _interested_.

Riddle had bypassed the laws of the Ministry of Magic – why shouldn't Harry be able to find a solution as well?

It seemed to Harry there were two options. He could first find another witch or wizard in the surrounding area and practice his magic nearby; the charm would not be able to distinguish him, if he had read correctly. He crinkled his brow at this thought. From his encounter with Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge after the Dobby Incident, Harry knew no other magical beings lived in the neighborhood. He could hardly begin to waltz up to doors and ask for any magical residents, either.

His other option lay in finding a way to bypass the Trace altogether, which its function, it seemed to Harry, was contingent solely upon his age.

Suddenly, a grin grew on Harry that could rival any those of Fred or George. Speaking of the troublemakers, Harry had a letter to write.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry awoke that night drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. His hands lay so firmly clenched upon his sheets that they were threatening to tear. His back was arched, his shoulders digging painfully into his pillow.

It took him only moments to regain control of his body, but his mind was whirling at kilometer a minute. He had once again relived, through his dreams, the death of a friend and the rebirth of a murderer.

Harry bit back a groan as he fitted his glasses over his ears. He tried not to make too much noise in his trek to the netty, but his stumbling made that difficult. He only hoped his Aunt and Uncle was sleeping deeply. Harry fumbled for the light switch as well; electric lights were really the only things he missed at Hogwarts.

He took a good look in the mirror and groaned once more. The bruise under his eye had turned from a deep purple to a murky yellow, and his hair stuck up at angles only sleeping fitfully could produce. Harry was a site for sore eyes.

He splashed water onto his face before leaning across the sink and gripping its edges tightly. His breathing was calm once more, but the images from his dream were fresh.

He had once again watched as Peter Pettigrew drew his wand – in what seemed like a painstakingly slow manner, now that Harry new the result – and with a swish, Cedric lay lifeless on the ground. Today, the dream seemed to progress in slow motion. Harry gritted his teeth as he realized that Cedric might have survived had he only rolled out of the way. Or had Harry reacted quickly enough.

Harry raised his eyes once more. He was scrawny. Every bit of his physique screamed scrawny, teenage boy.

The skin was stretched tightly over his cheekbones, the result of years of limited portions or missed meals. Harry dully noted he had neglected to eat dinner the previous night. His elbows stuck out at odd angles as his arms seemed too long for his body. There was no hint of muscle or strength in his slender shoulders, or in his long legs. Although Harry fit the perfect build for a Quidditch Seeker, he was in no way fit to defend his self.

Harry looked down again. If he had been stronger, faster, perhaps he could have saved Cedric of his fate? Although he doubted he could evade Lord Voldemort without a wand for long, it was certainly not a ludicrous thought altogether.

Harry glared at the faucet – he owed it to Cedric to learn to defend himself and those around him. Maybe next time, he would be able to protect those closest to him better than he had Cedric Diggory.

Maybe next time, no one would have to die.

Set in his resolve, Harry stomped back to his room. He was beyond caring what his Aunt and Uncle thought or heard. Had he any other place to go, he would have left their home in a moment. He wanted to live with Sirius, but Albus Dumbledore had firmly put his foot down.

Harry yanked open his door and made straight for his trunk. He wrenched it open (perhaps too hard, as his shoulder protested mightily) and peered inside. It took him a moment to realize his trainers were probably buried beneath the mess on his floor. He kicked several pants out of the way before he found them. Harry dressed quickly and tied his shoes, stealing down the stairs in the hall. He glanced at the bright kitchen clock before making for the front door. It was only 6:00 in the morning – on a Saturday, no less.

Harry stopped briefly as he exited the home. He had the oddest feeling someone was watching him. He looked around the block, but finally had to admit there was no one there. Shrugging slightly, he resumed the stretching of his calves.

Harry Potter had never exercised in his life. Sure, he had run around the Quidditch pitch several times before practice, but that was mostly as a warm up; an activity designed simply to 'get his blood pumping,' as the saying went. Now, Harry felt slightly foolish as he took off at a slow jog down the neighborhood. It was only running, he continued to tell himself; there was no possible way he could bugger that up.

Harry was thinking about the incredibility of people running for sport, much less fun, when he should have been watching his path.

"Oomph!"

Harry fought the urge to rub his now very sore bum as he looked up from his new position on the walk. Staring back at him with surprised eyes was a slender girl with her hair pulled into a high ponytail. She extended a hand.

"Sorry about that! No one's ever out so early in the morning. I definitely didn't expect to run into another. Can't say I ever see people on my trip around the neighborhood."

Harry raised his eyebrows, accepting her hand politely. "You run around the whole of the neighborhood? That must be a fair six miles!"

"Six and a half," the girl said, straightening her shoulders proudly – Harry tried very hard to ignore the fact that her movement accentuated her chest, as well.

"So you're one of those people?" Harry asked, his tone teasing.

"One of those people?"

"A runner," Harry joked.

The girl grinned. "Best there is, if I do say so."

"So explain this to me," Harry began, a laugh in his throat. "How do people do this for fun?"

"You don't find it invigorating?" She laughed when Harry vigorously shook his head no. "Well, it's really good for you, for starters. And it's a lot of discipline. It also gives me a lot of time to, you know, think. What else do you do for such long periods of time?"

"Eat and sleep, for starters. Rather fun, if I do say so."

"You're funny," she stated bluntly. Her laugh had a tinkling quality to it that made Harry grin as well. "Well, mystery man, I need to get back on pace. It was good to meet a fellow enthusiast."

Harry grinned at her obvious sarcasm. "Try not to lap me now, will you?"

She winked. "Can't make any promises."

Harry waited for her to run past him before he resumed his own slow paced jog. He still had that silly grin plastered to his face. There was something about that girl that just seemed downright special - an inherent goodness, of sorts. Harry couldn't help but laugh at his own absurdity. He was certainly thankful, though, that something could still make him laugh; he was beginning to think that quality had died with Cedric.

Harry frowned. He shouldn't have thought that way. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself a little faster. His training was for Cedric and his unjust death, after all.

Ten minutes later, Harry reached the edge of the neighborhood. Not as ambitious (or physically fit, he was embarrassed to say) as the mystery runner, he turned round the way he came rather than make the full neighborhood lap.

He was almost to the Durlsey's when he veered off course to his left. He entered, instead, the small neighborhood park. Feeling absurd, Harry took several looks around before sitting on the ground and trying his hand at sit-ups. He was amazed to find how such a simple action could make his belly ache in such a way!

He moved next to side crunches and finally to push-ups. Those were the only exercises he remembered from public school physical education.

Harry made a mental note to look for some more exercises later. He thought of sneaking a look at Dudley's computer. The idea of going around Dudley's rather large back made Harry smirk mischievously.

With lack of anything else to do, he repeated the process twice more – sit-ups; crunches; push-ups. By the time Harry began his walk home, he felt sticky and thirsty. Overall, he concluded, he felt more alive than he had that week, with the exception of, perhaps, his flight into London. Harry resolved to continue this routine for Cedric, for Voldemort, and for every other wizard or witch who counted on him – which included virtually everyone, if Dumbledore's word could be true.

When he returned to the Dursley's, Harry quickly made himself some eggs (thrilled that his Aunt and Uncle were still readying themselves in the loo; Dudley, no doubt, was asleep) and returned to his bedroom. He was debating what to do when something knocked at his window.

Harry pushed away the blinds to find Hedwig staring at him. Harry grinned for what felt like the fifth or sixth time that morning – a record for the last several weeks.

"Good morning, girl." Hedwig hooted happily under Harry's fingers, graciously accepting a portion of his eggs as well. She stuck out her leg obediently, and Harry was only slightly disappointed to find she had one scroll stuck to her leg.

He instantly recognized the sloppy, narrow writing of his godfather. Harry retreated to the edge of his bed – his breakfast in one hand and letter in the other.

_Dear, Harry._

_I petitioned Dumbledore to see if you could stay here this summer – especially seeing as you've made your yearly trek back into the house of that wretched aunt of yours. Of course, you can imagine the answer: "Only when Harry is of age, and his mother's protection runs out, will he be free to gallivant about during the summer holidays. Focus not on Harry's absence, Snuffles – _Harry paused to laugh; he could hardly imagine Dumbledore actually saying Snuffles_ – but rather encourage him to embrace his remaining family and use his time to study wisely. The early bird does snatch the worm, my friend."_

_How very proverbial of him, the old coot. (Albus, I do hope you read this before it makes its way to Harry. Have to keep me in check, no doubt.) Am I not your most loving (and handsome) family?_

_Don't be too bitter, Harry. You're cooped up there; I'm cooped up here. You've got Petunia; I've got my ol' mum – can't wait to introduce you. She's a real scream._

_How are you, Harry? I'll skip asking if everything is all right. I won't try to fool myself into that. I can only imagine what you've been through. I'll try to have Dumbledore send for you as soon as possible. I do believe I now have Molly Weasley on my side. Did you know she and her boys are staying at my place as well? Quite the loud (obnoxious) party you're missing, Harry._

_Now why is it that you're suddenly so interested in Pettigrew? To answer your question, there's nothing more about him you don't already know. He's a coward. Always followed Prongs, Moony and I around as if we had something shiny glued to our bums. It wasn't the power he wanted. He simply wanted to be liked and popular. I imagine that's the appeal his current group holds for him – the bloody wanker._

_There's no news here from the wizarding world. All's quiet. Not that I can say I would be the first one to know, seeing as I'm trapped in this house. Lucky I have Buckbeak. I'll give him a pat for you. Anything else you care for? If you like, I have ample opportunity to get back Fred and George, if they've ever played a nasty prank on you. Merlin knows those two have it coming._

_I'll keep you posted best I can on the mischief makings._

_Take care, Harry. All my love,_

_Snuffles_

_Adorable nickname, is it not?_

Harry felt himself now glaring at the parchment in his hands. Professor Dumbledore was now keeping his godfather locked up in his own home? As if Azkaban had not done enough of that for a lifetime! Harry held back a guttural growl threatening to escape; he needed to have a talk with the Headmaster about treating others with some sort of decency.

Siruis had, however, answered his question. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Dumbledore had omitted some of his letter in order to keep Harry safe, or whatever the excuse was today.

Peter Pettigrew was a friend-seeking coward. Harry could hardly say he was surprised. He had wondered, however, why Pettigrew seemed especially fearful of him in the graveyard. Dumbledore had mentioned something of Pettigrew being in Harry's debt, but Harry could hardly wrap his mind around that. He wanted no such thing.

Sirius' thoughts on the matter neither confirmed nor disproved Dumbledore's suspicions.

Harry noted Pettigrew's thirst for friends, rather than power or fame. He filed it away in his mind, hoping that information might one day be useful. If there was one thing Harry had learned through his years of Voldemort, it was that power rested in knowing his adversary.

Hedwig had returned with one letter, which meant only one thing: Fred and George had sent her away without a response. They were either not planning to respond (which Harry highly doubted) or were taking their time in doing so. Either way, he could only wait. In the mean time, he might try to read that Ministry book.

First, however, sticky Harry Potter surely needed a steaming shower.


	3. The Attractive Weasley Brothers

A/N: Hi, everyone! Couple of quick notes: first, I would like to apologize for a very subtle (but glaringly huge) mistake I made. I believe in discussing the Decree for Underage Wizardry, I insinuated that Harry only knew of it because his incident with Dobby. For some odd reason, I completely forgot that his incident with Aunt Marge did, indeed, happen before the fourth book. Secondly, thank you to everyone for all the encouragement! The reviews and favorites are encouraging! Finally, I would like to point out that though this story is post Goblet of Fire, it will not directly follow the 5th, 6th, and 7th book. Of course, some things will be very similar, but do expect some deviation.

Oh, and I don't own anything related to Harry Potter (although you may not steal my works). We have JK Rowling to thank for that. Enjoy this bit!

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After several hours of reading his new Ministry of Magic book, Harry had learned one thing, if nothing else: six-year-olds ran the Ministry of Magic.

Harry struggled to think of a messier institution. For example, it seemed as if the Minister failed to hold the most power, or even to command the most respect. The Head of the Auror Department, Head of the Wizengamot, and, strangely, the Head of International Magical Cooperation usually fought over the spot – quite literally. In fact, the three Heads had actually come to blows in 1786 in a fight that had two of the three men hospitalized for sprouting new fingers at any given moment in the day.

The size of the Ministry had increased haphazardly as well. Apparently, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had operated for four full years before the then-Minister was informed of its existence.

Sighing once more at the in competency of his government, Harry shut his book and shoved it under his bed. He was happy to have it; it made a great reference book. But no one in his or her right mind would read _that_ for fun.

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Dudley Dursley and Piers Polkiss had a daily ritual: they would bicycle to the farthest neighborhood park (as that was all the physical activity Dudley could take, but it was still away from his mother's watchful eye) and seat themselves on the swings. They spent their hours taunting the neighborhood children and stealing ice cream or possessions as the pleased. There was little anyone could do to stop a crazed-looking boy (who stood at six foot tall) and his whale of a best friend.

Harry learned long ago to avoid that park. Not only was he not a fan of Piers or Dudley, nor they of him, but also he rather enjoyed having the home to himself. Uncle Vernon was at work; Aunt Petunia had her nose poked over the neighbor's fence; Dudley was out making the lives of others miserable. Harry was free to lounge about as he pleased.

Today, however, Harry had a mission. His workout routine would suffer as long as Harry possessed zero knowledge of how to further his progress. He planned to educate himself using Dudley's favorite toy, the Internet.

The destructive, still bitter and depressed side of Harry begged him to wait until Dudley returned home. If Harry was caught on Dudley's computer, Harry could only imagine the beating he would receive. The part of Harry that seemed to be recovering, though, urged him to not deliberately put himself into any more harm.

Sneaking into Dudley's room was much like prying open a heavy lid to a dumpster; Harry momentarily wished he was unable to smell. Even cracking the door to Dudley's room, the smell of stale cookies and unwashed socks drifted to his nostrils. How Dudley slept there was anybody's guess.

Harry made his way quickly to the large monitor and shook it awake with the mouse. It moved slowly, but it was reliable. It took him a moment to locate the block letter I, but he finally found himself surfing the web. He took a moment to shake his head at how thrilled Arthur Weasley would be.

It took Harry almost no time at all to find a site full of different exercises. He hesitated, noticing the pictures of people on the side; each of them had more muscle than was healthy, in Harry's opinion. He certainly had no wish to look that way. Finished and a little disturbed, Harry exited the site. He jumped fully in the air when another window opened, advertising several scantily clad women. Harry more quickly clicked to exit that particular window, cursing about Dudley's tastes in websites. He made for the exit.

He had only shut Dudley's door behind him when a voice met him in the hall.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Wasn't in your room, Dudders," Harry replied. He gave a mock smile to his portly cousin. "Smells like an animal died there, or maybe rotten food? I won't have to tell Aunt Petunia you've broken your diet again, will I Diddykins?"

Dudley's face turned beet red. Harry might have been more terrified for his well being had Dudley not looked as if a run up the stairs would induce an instant heart attack.

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Harry roused again at 6am. He dressed in similar clothes and pulled on his trainers. He happily (and loudly) shut the door behind him, chuckling as he heard Uncle Vernon jump in his sleep. Harry planned to once again make his run across the neighborhood. He enjoyed the cool absence of the sun, but the mystery runner also intrigued him. No other neighborhood kid, with the exception of Stephen, would speak to him because of his cousin, but even Dudley wouldn't hit a girl. Maybe he stood a chance at finding a friend?

Jumping up and down several times to loosen his legs, Harry started off once more. He was elated to find his muscles did not hurt at all; perhaps running wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

At nearly the same point in the sidewalk, Harry saw another person come into shape. A few seconds later, she saw him as well.

She grinned, not slowing her pace. "Good morning, Mystery Man!"

"Morning," Harry called, grinning back. He hoped she would stop, but she seemed set to finish – she was running faster than the previous day. He found his tongue just as she was passing. "What's your name?"

"Robin!" She glanced back and threw him a wink.

Harry nearly melted into his shoes. No girl at Hogwarts had ever treated him in such a brilliantly friendly manner. Of course, Lavender had tried, but what Gryffindor boy had she not pined after for at least a week? Ginny Weasley was a very pretty girl, if Harry was perfectly honest, but he was certain her hero-crush would wear thin over time.

Something about his mystery runner, or Robin, he now knew, was very intriguing.

Harry stopped once again at his neighborhood park to try out his new exercises. Most of them seemed pretty standard, and several, such as lunges, he remembered seeing at some point on his life.

Toward the end of his workout, Harry decided he wanted to try something for agility that he had once seen his muggle classmates do. Standing, now, at the edge of the park, Harry felt rather silly. He still couldn't believe this was a sport.

He shook his head before taking off from his stance, exploding with speed. He ran as fast as he could to the other edge of the park. When he reached his final destination, he was panting hard, but pleased with his results.

Harry continued his sprinting eight more times. It was on his final sprint that anything out of the ordinary happened. Harry was just nearing the edge of the park, when he stepped in a bit of mud. His feet flew out from under him, and he skidded on his chest several feet further. He landed with a defeated _oomph_ and took a moment to reorient himself. He promptly stopped whiping the mud away when he heard a distant giggle.

Harry could clearly see a blond ponytail bouncing away down the street.

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Harry once again found himself with little to do. Surprisingly, he wasn't upset about this, as he might have been several days previously. Harry Potter sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, books surrounding him, and curtains closed.

Albus Dumbledore had been absolutely uncooperative after the murder of Cedric, the return of Voldemort, and the discovery that one of Harry's teachers was actually locked in a room at the bottom of his own trunk. Harry insisted he was old enough to shoulder the burden that he already knew would one day be upon him; he simply didn't know what that burden was. Albus Dumbledore had been everything in his power to keep the truth from Harry, and Albus was a powerful man.

Regardless, Harry was determined to find some hint of what his destiny may entail. Dumbledore had let slip the word destiny in their most recent argument, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was a connection between he and Voldemort that he was oblivious too. Harry wanted, in a disgusted sort of way, to know everything he could about the man.

The book in his hands was silver, decorated with burgundy speckles of what was undoubtedly blood. It was hardly larger than a journal; upon opening it, Harry wondered if it once was. The book was written entirely by hand, in a curly, distinctive script.

Harry flipped through from cover to cover; there was no more than fifty pages of stories and notes about Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, and notable Death Eaters. Harry wondered who had ever wanted to keep notes on such a deranged man.

That being said, he opened to the first page. Harry was very surprised to find it was the story he had thought of just the previous day. Harry took care to keep his fingers away from the blood stained bits of parchment.

_Tom returned to Little Hangleton at age 16, still under the influence of staff at Hogwarts. By this time, he had drifted far from his friends, although his followers, for lack of a better term, remained loyal. _

_Tom's parents, Tom Sr. and Merope, were married shortly. Tom Sr. left his wife after the love potion she concocted for him wore thin. Tom was not pleased with his father for leaving his mother. He returned to his birth town to discuss with his father his heritage. Tom Sr., it seems, was hardly aware he was a father. Tom murdered his father and two paternal grandparents._

_Merope died shortly after giving birth to Tom. He was birthed in an orphanage and often terrorized the children present. Several children claimed him to be an evil sent from the depths of hell. _

_I did not find the ring of Tom's Uncle Morfin, Merope's brother. Their previous home was in ruins. Morfin almost certainly spoke parseltounge. Several of the locals describe him as "the deranged boy who hissed at the ground." One terrified individual, who only opened up after I procured a calming draught, swore she saw Morfin levitating sticks through the air with his hands._

And that was where the entry ended. Harry closed the book and rested it on his stomach, his hands coming to rest behind his head. He stared pensively up at the ceiling. He suddenly felt very thankful to have found this particular book.

Curious to Harry was that the book did not sound as if written by a follower or someone who wished ill upon Voldemort. It was merely a record. Someone who wanted to meticulously learn about the man before the insanity took hold.

Most curious, Harry thought, was the author was undoubtedly looking for something: a ring of the family.

Harry felt very thrown by these short four paragraphs. He had always known that Lord Voldemort was not a pureblood, but something had always caused Harry to think it was his father who possessed magical abilities. Harry was surprised to find it was, in fact, his mother. He was also surprised to learn that Tom had not murdered his mother; at least, not intentionally. From Ginny's story, that had been his assumption.

Harry shivered. He wondered fleetingly if that was Tom's first murder.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry nearly fell off the bed when a loud crack resounded through the room. He did manage to smash his head against the back wall of his bed. Harry failed about until he caught his balance, staring with wide eyes at the ugly creature now standing in the middle of his room. Harry had seen a house elf before, but this creature looked nothing short of a house elf with a serious aversion to personal hygiene.

The creature stood no more than three feet tall. His legs and arms were the thickness of Harry's wrist, and Harry was a small boy. A pillowcase that adorned many horrible looking stains (Harry was fairly sure he recognized blood) hung limply from his shoulders. His cheekbones stretched the darkened skin across his face to a level that was surely unnatural. Unlike Dobby, his ears did not stand pointed and tall. Rather, they fell limply against his face, and Harry saw a part distinctly missing.

"Master sent me," the elf drawled, obviously displeased. He took one look around Harry's room and muttered. Harry caught the words 'filthy' and 'disgraceful'.

Harry spoke cautiously. "Who is your master?"

The elf made a pained face before spitting out the word, "Sirius."

"Sirius?" Harry's eyebrows disappeared somewhere into his hairline. The elf pulled from his pillowcase (which had several crude pocket sewn on) an envelope. Harry accepted it graciously, and the elf looked at him pointedly (with disgust). Harry nodded. "I guess you're free to go."

Harry had not even finished the word 'go' before a second crack resounded and the elf disappeared from sight. Shaking his head in confusion, Harry looked at the letter in his hands and opened it.

He grinned very widely.

_Dear Mr. Harry James Potter, world class hero and jolly good friend:_

_We do hope that nasty little elf didn't scare you too badly. He's become Sirius' best mate, if you hadn't guessed. Of course, we couldn't owl you. Quite surprised, I was myself, to see that Dumbledore allowed your letter to get to us – what, with your mischievous question and all. Of course, delivering through Kreacher bypasses the old man althogether. It's beautiful, is it not?_

_Georgie and I were tickled pink to hear from you. You must tell us, ol' chap, how is your summer? Are the flowers blooming? Is the sun shining, birds chirping happily?_

_We were quite surprised to receive your letter, but so very proud. Our little Harry has finally acknowledge his calling and found mischief. I do believe you will find it quite a fulfilling hobby._

_In answer, George and I concocted a simple aging potion, tweaked slightly to our liking. I believe it is in the fourth year potions book. Instead of 2 grams of liverwort, add only 1. It ensures the potion will last just a tad longer. Of course, you yourself saw it was unable to trick the Tournament's Age Line. I do hope you find use for it, however. Wooing an older woman, perhaps? Harry, I believe it's high time we had a discussion before your hands get you into trouble._

_You see, young man, there are birds in this world and there are bees. You are a bee. Go sting yourself a bird._

_We send every ounce of our love. Hugs and kisses, my dearest boy!_

_The Attractive Weasley Brothers_

Harry read the letter several times over before bursting out laughing. He shouldn't have expected anything less from Fred and George; they were never serious. Harry was simply happy to know which potion they had used to age themselves. Ever since reading the Trace broke upon a wizard's seventeenth birthday, Harry was itching to know if it could be fooled by, perhaps, a fake seventeenth birthday.

Fishing around in his trunk, Harry found the book in question and, eventually, the correct potion. He glared mildly at the page. There were two ingredients he did not have in his possession. He would have to write the Apothecary for them. Hedwig, however, was currently out.

Harry lay back down on his bed and resumed staring at the ceiling. Harry chuckled at the letter from Fred and George. They had insisted Harry's own hands might find him in a spot, and he was certain they had insinuated a sexual one. He shook his head just barely; Harry Potter was the last boy to be found in a compromising position. His hands would be staying firmly in his pockets, despite Fred and George's jokes; what a ludicrous thought.

Harry sat bolt upright; another ludicrous thought occurred to him. He looked down at his own two hands, turning them over several times.

His answer to the Trace solution sat right in front of him: his hands.

Harry knew it was ludicrous, but he had to try.

Shaking away the silly feeling, he held both of his hands directly in front of him and paused for a moment. He finally found on a quill lying on his desk. He focused on it, his brow furrowing intensely. After several moments, Harry realized he had been holding his breath, and expelled his lungs of air. He shook his head and refocused.

_Accio quill. Accio quill. Accio quill._

Harry thought the words over and over. The quill did not come, but Harry swore he saw it move. He took a different approach, shutting his eyes and picturing the quill in his mind.

_Accio quill. Accio quill. Accio quill._

Harry yelped when something feathery landed directly in the palm of his hand.

In the palm of his hand, his nicest quill sat, just as lifelessly as it had upon his desk. Rather instinctively, Harry swiveled his head around his room; he expected an owl, a letter, or an angry official to appear at any moment. He had, in fact, broken a Ministry decree (and one he had previously broken, at that). A great grin broke out across his face, and Harry laughed – he laughed deeply for the first time in weeks, grinning uncontrollably into his hands.

He set the quill down, still grinning, and tried once more. After several moments, his quill floated into his hand; he watched it happen this time. It was surely shakier than had he used his wand, but it was a start.

Returning the quill to his desk, Harry stared at it once more, visualizing it clearly.

_Wingardium leviosa. Wingardium leviosa._

Harry frowned, as nothing happened – nothing at all. He tried multiple times to no avail. He felt himself growing angry, and took a moment to take a deep breath. He tried to summon his quill once more, and it came easily. His frown became more pronounced.

Of course, Harry thought, summoning was one of the first spells taught at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was simply that much easier.

Harry tried again, shutting his eyes to focus on his quill. It zoomed directly into his hands. He put it back; at least that was a start. He turned his palms upward and looked at them once more. There had to be something to this business he was missing.

"_Lumos_," he muttered carelessly the simplest spell he knew. Harry jumped as his hands began to burn. It was a dull burn; much more like rubbing his hand across the carpet, but it was a strange sensation. He stared, entranced, at his hands. "_Nox_."

The sensation ceased.

Harry vaulted from his bed and swatted at the light switch like an annoyed feline. Although not fully dark, as the sun still shone brightly just outside, much of the light left the room. Harry walked slowly to the middle of his room, and then he tried again. "_Lumos_."

The sensation returned; small, invisible flames licked Harry's fingers and palm. But there was no light. He stared, mystified at his hands, still standing the dark. Was it necessary to have a wand for light to shine? He returned to the light switch and reached out. What he saw made his breath catch: the light switch was clearly visible. Harry pulled his hands away, and it returned to shadow.

Harry tried again to the same results. His hands emitted no light, but objects near them glowed. He ran his hands over nearly everything in his room, watching with interest as the light danced across his possessions, though there was seemingly no source to it. Harry's hand hovered over his quill once more. _Nox_, he thought.

Everything fell into shadow once more. Harry grinned. "Wicked."


	4. Milkshakes and Frozen Lemonade

**A/N:** Thanks for the support, everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's absolutely silly, but it was kind of fun to write. I promise Harry will return to the magical world sometime soon. In the mean time, enjoy!

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Harry had been wrong – very wrong. Running was difficult. At 6am the next morning, Harry was having more trouble pulling himself from his bed than he had ever encountered. Every muscle in his body ached. He was also very tired from having stayed up half the night, practicing the two spells he could now cast wandlessly, and puzzling over the enigma that was magic.

Groaning, Harry finally managed to pull his legs out of bed. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood up very slowly. He found himself squinting into the rising sun. Had it really taken him so long to stand from his bed? Harry quickly found his shoes.

Harry huffed as he shut the door to Number Four; a little irked he was so late to begin his morning run. He vaguely wondered if he was too late to see his new morning friend.

As if in answer to his question, a blonde ponytail bobbed across his vision. He was surprised to see her already passing his summer home. She didn't appear to have seen him, though. "Wait!"

Robin turned at the voice, slowing down considerably, but still jumping slightly in place. She grinned and waved at Harry. He jumped off the porch stairs (a move which internally made his muscles cringe) and jogged to catch up. She didn't give him a chance to stop; she worked back up to pace the moment he was at her side.

"Morning, Mystery Man," she greeted.

Harry gave a goofy grin. "I'm Harry."

"Guess that solves the mystery. Hi, Harry."

"Morning, Robin," he greeted; he set his feet at a pace he was unfamiliar with. He had not realized, previously, how fast she ran.

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun rose in the sky ahead of them. Harry struggled to think why he had originally chosen to run the other direction. Watching the sunrise was much more exhilarating.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

Harry chuckled; could this girl read minds? "Maybe not the word I would use, but yes."

"Sorry, Harry," Robin laughed, "but there's no manly word for a pretty sunrise."

Harry felt himself turn a deep red; he sincerely hoped her eyes were focused forward. They settled into another silence, but Harry found himself thinking a mile a minute. It was only the first week of summer; how had he found himself in such a drastically different position to previous summers in Little Whining?

"Would you like to hang out some time?"

Harry struggled very hard to keep his mouth shut after that - those words were meant to fly out from his lips. He chanced a glance at his running partner and was surprised to find her grinning.

"Sure thing," she chirped happily. "3 o'clock today. Let's meet at the park furthest from your place. I assume that house was where you live?"

"Yeah," Harry panted slightly. "I'll be there."

They eventually neared the end of the neighborhood. Harry was debating whether to continue their run when Robin reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't do too much too quickly. You'll regret it."

"It's really not that bad," Harry returned, trailing off slightly as his sore muscles were continuing to protest.

Robin laughed and winked at him. "Turn around, Harry. Don't worry. I'll whip you into shape by the end of the summer. You can count on it."

Harry was really beginning to love those winks.

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Harry was feeling frustrated – again. Try as he might, he could not find a solution to the wandless spells that evaded him. He now sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, and chest rising at a slow rate. He really didn't want to be frustrated.

_Lumos_, he thought once more. He could feel the invisible flames lick his fingers once more. It was such an odd sensation; he was wary to let it fade. _Nox._

One thing Harry had come to realize, however, was that he seemed to be much more proficient at silently casting spells when a wand was not involved. Although he had flipped through several of his texts, he could not find a concrete answer. It seemed, in fact, he could not find any documented cases of wandless magic at all. Harry came to the conclusion that silently casting spells allowed one's mind to better focus on the magic at hand (quite literally), while using a wand required a channeling of magic, best helped along by firmly stating what one wanted. He knew it was a weak hypothesis, but he had little else to work with.

_Accio quill. _

The quill floated into his palm once more. Harry opened his eyes and stared at it curiously. He placed it once more on the desk and tried again.

_Accio quill._

Harry distinctly felt the flame that time. The same invisible flames that licked his fingers when he cast for light were seemingly present when he summoned as well. He slowly raised an eyebrow, and he tried again.

_Accio quill._

The flames were present once more. They ceased the moment the quill touched his fingertips. Harry stared curiously at his own hands.

_Lumos._

The invisible warmth spread across his palm once more. It did not abate after the initial casting. It did not abate at all until _Nox_ was cast. Harry was intrigued. He always imagined his magic to be apart of him, functioning as he did. He was now debating if it was an entity to itself – dough in his hands to be molded and crafted as he pleased.

A memory came drifting back to Harry. Just last week, when Harry had stepped from his Uncle's new automobile, his toes had tingled upon setting foot at Number Four Privet Drive. The newest, more powerful wards (set into place by the Headmaster himself) were tangible. Faint, but distinguishable. Harry wondered if his magic functioned similarly, leaving traces of itself on every thing it touched, including the wizard to cast the spell.

He turned his hands skyward. Nothing felt particularly abnormal about them. They were pale, slightly calloused hands – quite average for a fourteen-year-old boy. Sighing to himself, he tried to distinguish the sensations he felt when casting _Lumos_. Harry stared at his hands for several moments before anything at all caught his attention. It was a faint tickling at the underside of his elbow.

_Accio quill. _

Harry grinned; he distinctly felt the tickling follow the path of his forearms to his fingers. Perhaps his odd theory had some credibility. He willed the sensation to travel once again to his palm of its own accord.

_Wingardium Leviosa._

The quill twitched in his hand, but did nothing wholly incredible. Harry nodded, pleased with the slight progress, and tried once more. He shut his eyes, as he had previously, had willed his magic to follow his commands at its own leisurely pace.

_Wingardium Leviosa. _

Harry grinned; the softness of his feather quill had disappeared, only to be replaced by another set of invisible flames.

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At five minutes to three o'clock, Harry was pacing in front of the neighborhood park farthest from the Dursley's. Harry had long ago realized his hair would never be tamed, and he took a moment to appreciate that. He was able to run a hand through his disheveled hair without having to worry about it falling back into place; it would always look like quite the mess.

After what felt like a lifetime to Harry, a blonde ponytail bobbed around the corner of the walk. Robin waved cheerily as she approached. Harry was amused to see her still dressed in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, although obviously not the pair from her morning run.

"Hi ya, Harry," Robin greeted. Her white smile glinted brightly in the sunlight.

Harry tried to grin back. "Hi, Robin."

"Do you live with the Dursley's?"

Harry was taken aback; this was hardly the note he wished to start their conversation on. For the first eleven years of his life, every companion he ever made eventually left due to his familial relations with the Dursley's. No one wanted to be friends with someone Dudley Dursley did not like, and Harry Potter was certainly that someone.

"Err." Harry tried not to worry his lower lip. "Unfortunately, yeah."

To his surprise, Robin laughed. "That's awful. They're really wretched people. Petunia always gossips with our next door neighbor, and Stephen's my brother."

"I feel for him." Harry shivered noticeably for added effect, and he was happy to see Robin grin at his antics.

"Are they family?"

Harry nodded painfully. "Unfortunately. Petunia was my mother's sister."

"Was?" Robin prodded hesitantly.

"Err, yeah. My mum and dad died when I was little."

"Oh," Robin supplied. She quickly changed subjects. "And stop saying 'err.'" Harry quirked an eyebrow, and Robin grinned back. "I told you this morning I would whip you into shape, didn't I? First lesson to good mental shape: never say err, uh, or um. You sound like you haven't a clue what you're talking about."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "So I'm in need of mental work too?"

"No." Her answer was casual. She strode past him. "I'm just a helper. It's what I do. You're cute, Harry, but we have got to work on that confidence of yours."

Harry blushed all the way down to his toes. He was relatively certain Robin had enough confidence for the both of them. He turned around (only when he was sure his blush had faded) and followed her across the park.

Harry and Robin sat down on the swings together, Robin still humming happily to herself. She turned enough to look at her target. "So, Harry. Tell me something about yourself."

Harry tried not to turn red. "Um, I really do hate running."

Robin grinned widely. "That's not what I meant. What's your favorite thing to do in the summertime? And what did I just say about 'um'?"

"Well," Harry ignored her last comment good-naturedly, but his thought stopped abruptly past that. What was his favorite thing to do in the summer? His summer's previously had consisted of dodging Dudley's fists and subsisting off sneaked dinners. This current summer he was spending training for a war. He could hardly answer either of those. "Reading, I suppose."

"Bookworm?"

Harry made a face and squinted. "Not really. I just don't know people here."

Robin frowned at him. "You don't have friends here? The Dursley's have lived here as long as I have."

"Most people aren't keen on liking someone Dudley doesn't," Harry answered dully. As if on cue, a loud commotion broke across the playground.

"Give it back, Dudley!"

"It's not yours!"

Across the playground, Dudley Durlsey and Piers Polkiss had just arrived. They dropped their bikes to the ground and quickly spotted two unarmed kids – no more than ten, by the looks of it. Dudley was leering at them. "It is now, short stuff."

"Scram, kid," Piers chimed in, taking the second game system out of Dudley's hands and turning it over in his own. He grinned. "These are new, aren't they? Thanks for getting them for us."

The two ten-year-olds boys looked at each other with wide eyes before looking back at Dudley and Piers. Harry knew exactly what they were thinking, having been on the end of Dudley's thievery many times. They not only wanted their games back, but also were quite certain their mothers would flay them if they 'lost' such an expensive toy.

Harry turned back to Robin, as watching the scene made his stomach uneasy, only to find she had disappeared. When he turned back around, Robin was marching her way toward Dudley and Piers. Harry was too surprised to do anything more than watch.

Robin proceeded to march right up to the two neighborhood villains. After offering an overly sweet, "Hi, boys," she kneed one in the stomach, followed by the other – a move which stunned Harry so much he nearly fell out of his swing. She took advantage of their surprised and weakened state, grabbing the two game systems and turning to the younger kids. She presented them with a genuine smile. She watched as they scampered off happily, whispering to one another, before turning around and coming back to her swing as if nothing had happened at all.

Harry stared at her. "What," he sputtered, "was that?"

"If you haven't already noticed, Harry, your cousin is kind of a jackass."

Harry snorted, although he hadn't meant to. "Alright, Robinhood."

"Robinhood," Robin quietly repeated. A huge grin wound its way onto her face at the reference to the fictional childhood hero. "I like it." She grinned for another moment before turning seriously back to Harry. "What school do you go to?"

Harry glared up at the sky, then at the ground. His moment of happiness at watching his cousin get beat up by a girl flitted away. "St. Brutus's."

"Isn't that a school for the criminally insane?" It was Robin's turn to snort.

"I have my uncle to thank for that."

Robin stopped sniggering and looked at him seriously. Harry was surprised, overwhelmed, and speechless when she reached down and took his hand in hers. "It's really unfair how they treat you."

"Suppose so," Harry responded, struggling to remove his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"No," Robin said earnestly. "It is. They send Dudley to an expensive private school, and ship you off into the middle of nowhere. I can't imagine they're very kind. I've met Petunia. She seems like an awful woman."

Harry nodded hesitantly, but remained quiet.

Robin gave him a funny looking before taking a deep breath. Her next words came out very quickly. "Are those Dudley's clothes?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hand-me-downs."

"Thought so," Robin huffed. "Every family who lives in this neighborhood has at least enough money to get by. If your aunt and uncle can't spend a little money to buy you clothes, they shouldn't spend countless pounds to send their fat son to school."

Nothing else had ever embarrassed Harry as fully.

"Well," Robin chirped, changing gears altogether. "We're just going to have to change that. Come on."

Harry found himself being dragged off his swing, as his hand was still clasp loosely in hers. "Where are we going?"

Robin grinned a grin he was beginning to love as well. "For milkshakes."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry and Robin sat across from one another at Uncle Tom's Ice Cream Parlor just outside their suburban neighborhood. Having never been there, Harry was fascinated. The booths were a brilliant fire engine red and the waitresses maneuvered themselves about on roller skates. It was entirely unconventional (Uncle Vernon would surely have a heart attack), and Harry loved every moment of it.

"Okay, first step to fixing every wrong thought your disgusting excuse for relatives have ever instilled in you." Robin paused, rethinking her words. "Wait, did that offend you?"

Harry laughed at her speak-before-thinking attitude; maybe Ron would be this interesting if he wasn't so one-track-minded. "Not at all. They're a disgusting bunch."

Robin grinned. "I take it back. That was step one: admitting you have a problem."

"Oh really," Harry laughed again, rolling his eyes. He had heard that phrase many times on Aunt Petunia's afternoon talk shows. "I suppose I have a problem, in that case."

"Good," Robin encouraged. "Second step, in that case: making friends. Harry, just because you have a brutish moron for a cousin that tries to scare away anyone that comes near you does not mean you are not entitled to friends."

Harry turned a brilliant shade of red.

"And you aren't allowed to be embarrassed about it!" Robin chided him. She moved on. "So, you just have to jump out there. Be yourself. See that girl at the counter?"

Harry turned around as discreetly as he could. A strawberry-blonde sat at the counter sipping on frozen lemonade, chatting animatedly with the woman serving customers behind the counter. He turned back to Robin with a puzzled look.

"Go talk to her," Robin prompted. She sat back and folded her arms over her chest. "Harry, the easiest people to make friends with are those who like to talk. She will keep the conversation going if you just initiate it." Harry gave her a skeptical look, which prompted her to sigh loudly and move out of her booth. She grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged her with him, marching up to the counter. She tapped the strawberry-blonde on the shoulder and grinned. "Hi, meet my friend Harry."

With that, Robin dragged Harry front and center, and she proceeded to return casually to her own table, but not before sending Harry an absolutely devious grin. Harry stared at her for a moment before turning back to the strawberry-blonde. "Um, hi." Harry cursed internally; he had forgotten the Never-Say-'Um' Rule.

"Hi," she returned with a raised eyebrow.

Harry's voice caught in his throat as he struggled for words. "Well, nice weather today."

"Yes," the girl answered slowly. "It's sunny."

An exceptionally awkward (or hilarious, as Robin would later term) silence passed between the two before the girl took one last drink of her lemonade. "Sorry to brush you off like this, but I've got to get going."

"Oh, right," Harry then answered just as quickly. "Um, see you." He did it again.

He dragged himself back to the booth he shared with Robin; she was trying hard to hide her giggles behind her milkshake. "That was a disaster."

"Yes, but rather hilarious," she answered.

"You are the devil." Harry gave her a mock glare. "I can't believe you thought that was a good idea."

"Harry, she's a girl," Robin laughed. "If you can talk and flirt with another girl, you have officially overcome all of the awful things the Dursley's have done with you."

Harry stared at her as if she had a second head. "You're crazy."

"Why?"

Harry stared at her for a moment before realizing she was completely serious. He fumbled with his words, suddenly under the spotlight. Finally, he gave up and settled on the very blunt truth. "Robin, no one here wants to hang around with me once they realize who my cousin is. I'm a walking disaster. I'm never here for more than the summer. I walk around in Dudley's old clothes. And I've got these glasses that are held together by tape, half the time."

Harry considered himself very lucky for having caught his tongue – he nearly said spellotape.

Robin glared directly back at him. "Harry, I'm hanging around you, regardless of your bully cousin. Summer is more than enough time to make a friend. Have you ever looked for other clothes on your own? You don't have to put up with Dudley's castoffs. And, really, those glasses are endearing; they're cute."

Harry was relatively positive his cheeks matched the color of his fire engine red chair. No girl had ever called him, famous Harry Potter, with his knack for trouble and unpolished shoes, cute – Robin had now said so twice today.

Robin sighed. "You don't believe me, do you? Well, no matter. I plan to prove it to you. By the end of the summer, Harry, you will be just as confident about yourself as I am about you." She took a pen out of her small shoulder bag and grabbed a napkin. "Meet me here, tomorrow at 2."

She looked up at Harry and grinned that devilish grin once more before sliding out of the booth and heading for the exit. Harry watched her exit before looking at the napkin at his head. _Bronze statue by McKeever Avenue_ was written in quick, neat script.

Harry sighed and shoved the napkin in his pocket. He was fairly certain one teenage girl was not supposed to instill more uncertainty in him than Lord Voldemort ever had.


	5. Expelliarmus

**A/N:** I apologize for absolutely disappearing off the face of the Earth. After summer session ended, I wound up on an impromptu road trip, followed by my computer going wonky due to heat exposure (please, I beg you, don't leave your laptop in the car on a hot summer day). So that took some dealing with. In response, I publish two chapters today, the second of which is packed full of wonderful things essential to the plot. Enjoy, and send me a rate/message if you feel so kind!

X-X-X-X-X

Harry Potter had written a list. On this list, he had compiled every spell he had yet learned in Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration, each spell separated into its respective area of study.

Harry let out a groan just scanning the parchment. _Lumos, Wingardium Leviosa, _and_ Accio_ were the only three spells with accompanying checkmarks. As Harry had tallied it up, he would need to learn to cast wandlessly ten new spells per day if he was planning to finish by the end of the summer. Of course, Harry reasoned he would be getting very little sleep if he stuck to that plan.

So Harry reorganized. He started with Charms. Charms like Flame-Freezing (which changed the properties of flames from burning to a sensation much like a midsummer breeze) and Severing were placed at the top of the list; charms that changed an objects color were placed toward the bottom. Harry began this task at 9A.M. He only finished at just past noon.

Stealing down to the kitchen, Harry fixed himself a quick sandwich before locking himself away once more. He drew the curtains to his room; Hedwig, with her head tucked under her wing, hooted dolefully at the dimmed lighting.

Taking a bite of his sandwich, Harry studied his lists carefully. He decided to, at the very least, try to learn two spells, charms, hexes, or incantations per day. If he was lucky, perhaps he would progress more quickly now that he better understood wandless casting (setting aside the fact that his understanding came from his own hypothesis on the subject).

His eyes landed on _Alohomora_. Aside from its obvious usefulness in the magical world, Harry realized its practicality in the rest of his life as well. For years, the Dursley's had kept him locked away in his room during dinner parties, nighttime outings, and birthday celebrations. Harry had learned recently from Fred and George the art of lock picking, but he was never as accomplished as the twins, who could find themselves through a locked door in under half a minute.

Harry found himself glaring at his door. The lock sat on the outside; within the first week of the Dursley's allowing Harry to stay in Dudley's old toy room (despite several tantrums from Dudley), Uncle Vernon had flipped around the lock. Harry could not lock himself in, but his Aunt and Uncle could.

If Harry chose to lock the door from the outside, effectively locking himself in, he was in a world of trouble if he could not correctly perform the charm to unlock the door; he imagined momentarily the laughter the Dursley's would share in discovering Harry had locked himself in his own room with no escape. Of course, he could not very well stand on the other side of the door either; practicing magic in the hallway of the Dursley's was a surefire way to find himself without dinner for the rest of the summer.

An idea came to Harry. There was one room in the house Harry was allowed to use that did have a lock. Mumbling incoherently, Harry opened his own door once again and strode directly across the hallway.

Sitting on the counter in the loo, Harry looked down at his own hands. He felt absolutely silly for practicing magic in the restroom, but he tried to shake those feelings; after all, he did have a locked door at his disposal.

Harry stared at the door handle (now locked) for a moment before shutting his eyes. He pictured the handle in his mind, taking a moment to clear the rest of his thoughts.

_Alohomora._

Opening one eye, Harry noted the lock was still stubbornly horizontal. Not to be discouraged, he closed his eyes, shook away other thoughts, and pictured the lock. He tried to feel again the tickling sensation he had first noted at his elbow.

_Alohomora_.

Harry grinned, his eyes still shut. He distinctly heard the movement of the lock clicking back against the door. When he opened his eyes, the lock sat vertically, indicating the unlocked position. Harry resisted the urge to let out a cry of excitement and tried again; he unlocked the door successfully.

He was reaching out to pull back on the door when a thought occurred to him. He leaned back against the counter and shut his eyes.

_Colloportus._

No sounds. Harry flexed his fingers and tried again.

_Colloportus._

This time, Harry did not hold back an excited laugh. That was the easiest he had mastered a spell without a wand yet. Of course, it was the exact counter spell to _Alohomora_, and Harry imagined the similarities between the two were numerous, but he still felt thrilled.

He leaned back against the mirror. He had an hour yet before he was due to meet his new friend. With nothing to do but practice, Harry reviewed in his head which spells he thought might be most useful. He was thinking through his lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts when something so simplistic struck him, he thought silly for thinking it.

In primary school, Harry had received the most basic Latin instruction. _Expelliarmus_, similar to most incantations, was rooted in Latin. _Expellere_ meant simply 'to expel,' while _arma_ indicated 'weapons of war.' His previous experiences with the charm had only dispelled the wand of his opponent, as that was the weapon of choice for every wizard.

Harry had to practice somehow, though.

He found himself nearly skipping out of the house as he headed for the neighborhood park. A short walk later, he came to the small brick wall that lined the park's perimeter. Kneeling behind its cover, Harry was happy (for perhaps the first time in his young life) to spy his cousin and cronies. Dudley sat on the only swing still intact while his group crowded around him.

Of course, Harry was well aware that Dudley's so-called weapon of war would be his pudgy fist. He still imagined, however, that the spell would have some sort of affect on his Muggle cousin.

Harry needn't close his eyes. He merely watched as Dudley, who was throwing stones at nearby pigeons, took pleasure in the pain of another living creature. It was the entire image Harry required to focus his energies.

Without warning, the stone in Dudley's hand soared away; it knocked his friend Gibson Tyler squarely between the eyes. Harry barely contained a snort as his cousin toppled backward off the swing onto his plump backside.

Mentally, Harry was doing a bit of a jig. He had done it! He had performed magic wandlessly on his first try, and his eyes had been open to witness the events!

Intrigued by the results, Harry tried once more; he watched as Piers Polkiss, another boy whom had contributed to Harry's miserable childhood, helped Dudley off the ground by the arm.

_Expelliarmus_.

Piers Polkiss held no stone to be expelled; he merely toppled off his feet similarly to Dudley.

Harry grinned without restraint. This was one charm he knew would both amuse and defend him until his days were done.

X-X-X-X-X

Much to Harry's delight, Dudley and his friends took a fair amount of time to become fully spooked. After the fourth mysterious time Dudley toppled out of his swing, the group abandoned the park in favor of something new. Thinking it was nearing 2 o'clock, Harry started toward the 'downtown.' Little Whining was cradled on three sides by nonresidential areas; to the West and East was a growing business metropolis; to the South was a quaint downtown area with heavy foot traffic, locally owned restaurants, and the public schools.

Harry was surprised to see Robin already sitting on the ledge that guarded the bronze statue of Hermes, Greek god of travel, messengers, and diplomacy, among other things. Harry gave the statue a thorough once over.

"You know, I've never actually noticed this statue was right outside the post office. Rather clever of them."

"It would be rather silly to have the goddess of love protecting the post, don't you think, Harry?" Robin grinned her hello. "Someone's in a good mood today."

It was true; Harry could feel himself grinning unrestrained as he boldly offered his hand to Robin, helping her from the statue's ledge. "Good day, I suppose."

Robin raised an eyebrow, but she didn't press for more. She tightened her grip when Harry moved to pull away his hand, evoking a strong blush from him. She tried hard not to giggle.

"So what are we doing here?" Harry asked after several minutes of walking through the shop area in companionable silence.

"I want you to see you how I do."

"You're taking me to buy a mirror?"

Robin hit him lightly on the arm as Harry laughed quietly. "No, Potter. You see yourself as you probably have for years: a quiet teenager dressed in his cousin's clothing, with little to offer but a fantastic beating from said cousin himself."

Harry stayed quiet. He was not about to tell his newest friend how spot-on her quick assessment had been. Of course, he had a right to feel that way, didn't he? In the Muggle world, he was little more than a relative of the Dursley's tracking in filth.

"Really, Harry, stop it," Robin chided when he didn't respond. "You're loads more interesting than Dudley can ever hope to be, and it's really quite obvious. That alone makes me like you ten times more than I ever will Dudley."

Internally, Harry's ego swelled so high he would not have been surprised to find himself floating off the ground.

"Don't be embarrassed," Robin laughed. Harry turned to give her a curious look. She shrugged. "You're hand got really warm. I thought you were embarrassed."

Harry realized his magic had actually warmed his fingertips at her compliments; he willed his dancing pride back under control. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Robin merely rolled her eyes. Finally finding her destination, she pulled Harry to a little shop on their right decorated by a large wooden sign that dubbed the establishment _Matilda's_. Just inside the door, Robin released him with an order to wander around while she looked for some things.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at his position; he was relatively certain he was helping a girl shop for clothing. Racks and racks of jackets, slacks, shirts, and other garments occupied nearly every square inch of floor space. There was little room to move around, but the low lighting and calm music gave off a distinctly homey atmosphere. The perimeter of the room was lined with shelves ranging between three and nine feet in height. The shelves housed books, baubles, shoes, toys, and even kitchen utensils; it was eclectic, and Harry enjoyed taking in every bit of it.

Fifteen minutes Harry spent wandering around the shop. He focused his attention on the shelves, as they contained the most interesting items. Harry was amused by the large variety of Muggle toys, from things as simple as small dolls to battery-powered aircraft that actually flew.

"Enjoying yourself?" Robin's voice appeared next to him

Harry set down the book on gardening in the wild he had been examining and turned to his friend. "Enjoying your shopping?"

Robin's grinned widened. "Oh, no. I'm not shopping for me."

Robin took his hand again and dragged him further into the shop. Harry quirked an eyebrow at her comment, but followed obediently.

At the back of the shop, Robin stopped in front of a door and lightly shoved Harry toward it. She wore an amused grin that bordered on devious; Harry thought she looked positively mischievous. She crossed her arms over her chest after waving him forward. "Go on."

Giving her one last curious look, Harry followed and pushed the door open in front of him. He was surprised to find only a chair and a long mirror decorated the very small room. A neatly folded set of clothing sat on the chair.

"Playing dress up?" Harry turned his head to ask.

Robin reached out to push him into the dressing room and closed the door behind him. When Harry reached out to turn the handle, he found Robin pulling with her weight against it on the other side. He could hear her stifling laughter. "I'm not letting you out until you put it on. Just humor me, Harry."

Harry sighed audibly – evoking more giggles from Robin – and turned to the lone chair. He knew he could win against her weight, but he didn't want to fight it. Rolling his eyes, he stripped himself of the large shirt he wore and baggy jeans held up by a length of rope before dressing in the attire Robin had laid out for him. A minute later, he tried to open his door again to find Robin still pulling against it. He laughed and shook his head. "Let me out; I did what you wanted."

Robin cracked the door and poked her head in without warning. Satisfied that Harry was not lying, she opened the door fully and stepped into the small room with him. Harry tried very hard not to let color rise to his cheeks as she stood in front of him and fixed his collar.

"Did you even look in the mirror, Harry?"

"Um, no," he answered truthfully. He had been too preoccupied with listening to the giggles on the other side of the door to have thought that coherently.

"Well, look," she prompted, turning his shoulder toward the mirror. "And don't say 'um.'"

Harry did as instructed, and his eyebrows shot almost immediately into his hair. Robin had dressed him dark wash denim jeans – the first pair of jeans Harry had ever worn that did not immediately require a belt. Regardless, she had provided him with one, and Harry had to admit it felt loads better than the rope he had previously used to tie Dudley's old slacks to his waist. She had picked out a simplistic black tee that clung just barely to his torso; having never worn clothing that fitted so properly, Harry momentarily wondered if it was too small. Finally, sticking with the dark color theme, black trainers with leather detail sat comfortably on his feet. Harry had never seen himself look so cleaned up.

"That's what I see," Robin told him quietly, watching him as he took in his own appearance. "I don't see the clothes the Dursley's give you. I see Harry. Who, while dressed in clothes large enough to fit three of him, is a funny kid when you look past his dress." Robin paused and giggled. "And who doesn't look half bad either."

Harry turned such a bright red that the contrast of his hair across his forehead and bright skin gave him ladybug-like qualities. Robin giggled further, putting her hand over her eyes to calm herself. After a moment, she turned back to Harry.

"So now that you aren't dressed in Dudley's shadow, can you understand why I think you're not totally repulsive?"

Harry allowed himself a small grin; the compliments she had fed him all day accompanied by the fitted attire had Harry's ego resting on cloud 9. He nodded somewhat. "I suppose I can see it. I do look rather dashing, as you said."

Robin laughed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Ladies and gentlemen, I've turned Harry into an egotistical prat."

Harry laughed with her. "Promise I'm not a prat."

"I know," Robin answered. She grinned at him. "I just wanted to put your confidence where it needs to be, and I think I've managed that for now."

"So, my little Mary Poppins, now that your work is done, are you just going to float away and leave me be?"

Robin shook her head. "Now, I'm going to leave you be so you can change, and then I'll be right outside. You really can't expect to get rid of me that easily."

Robin turned to open walk out the door to the fitting room, but Harry stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She turned around curiously to find him blushing again. "Thanks for this. I actually feel kind of normal. I've always worn Dudley's old things. I kind of forgot what I looked like without them. And I, um, had a lot of fun, too."

She squeezed his hand on her shoulder momentarily before grinning at him wickedly. "I think I'll ignore that 'um' simply because that was a wonderful compliment, Harry. I'm glad to help."

With that, she skipped out of the dressing room, leaving Harry to lean on the doorframe and watch her curiously. Of all the dreams of his summer Harry had experienced before leaving Hogwarts, this was surely the very last of them.

X-X-X-X-X

That night, Harry sat in his bed with a book propped onto his stomach, chewing lightly on the end of his quill. On the chair next to him sat his newest possessions: a pile of Harry-sized clothing. Robin had insisted that he shouldn't feel compelled to spend the money, as that wasn't her intention, but he had waved her off kindly. Harry still had a few pounds in his possession that he had converted on his last trip to Gringott's, and the clothing, coming from a hole-in-the-wall thrift shop, had hardly been expensive. He had liked his appearance enough to feel compelled to keep up with it, now that he knew something as simple as clothing that fit could boost his self-esteem.

Harry had yet to mention this to his newest friend, but he planned to ask her for help remaking his entire appearance. Inside, Harry realized he would soon have to confront the wizarding world (as he was certain few people believed his tale of Cedric and Lord Voldemort), and for his world to take him seriously, he would need to not look like he had fallen into the wrong laundry bin. As petty as it was, Harry knew the stock the wizarding world, especially the elite, placed on appearance.

Tonight's text was one Harry had purchased from Flourish and Blotts. It was a random accumulation of spells compiled by Ivan Biakov. Biakov, a Russian born and raised wizard, spent countless years traveling from continent to continent to observe the differences in magic between wizarding communities. Harry was surprised by how many spells were common knowledge in Europe that the rest of the globe had never heard of; he was equally as surprised by the opposite.

Biakov's writing had already introduced him to several new incantations, including one for determining the poison content of concocted potions that Harry was itching to try.

Harry turned the page; the next spell listed was the Patronus Charm. Harry knew how to cast a Patronus, but he was certainly no expert in the magic behind it. Curious, he read on.

_A Patronus, commonly used throughout all areas of the world, is a protective spell derived from the innermost joyous thoughts of the caster. The Patronus embodies love, happiness, hope, and peace. The incantation, _Expecto Patronum_, is directly Latin for, "I await a protector." The Patronus is used to repel Dementors, Lethifolds, and Inferi, to send messages between wizards, and to protect the caster from harm. The Patronus is akin to the Shield Charm, however, it repels fear and death as opposed to tangible spells._

Harry reread the passage several times, his eyebrows furrowing into a deep V. After the fourth read through, Harry laid down his book and stared at the ceiling. He recalled Professor Moody (or, rather, his imposter) talking about the Killing Curse in a similar manner during his 4th year.

Imposter-Moody had emphasized the impracticality of using _Avada_ _Kedavra_ if your soul and hatred was not in it. He had explained the curse could not be cast if the caster did not feel the necessary odium required. To Harry, the casting of a Patronus sounded the polar opposite of the Killing Curse – one fueled by love and the other by hate; one meant to prolong life while the other cuts it short.

Harry drifted off to bed that night wondering what might result if a Patronus and a Killing Curse were brought together.


	6. Bloody Owls

**A/N: **Here's a long one for everyone! It follows closely the plot laid by JKR, but I deviate significantly in the upcoming chapters. I've also added some fun little twists in to keep things interesting. Enjoy!

X-X-X-X-X

The rest of Harry's summer progressed similarly to that warm June day. He practiced his wandless casting, educated himself with the spell books he bought from Diagon Alley, and improved his knowledge in every area of the magical world, from wizarding traditions to government regulations. By July's end, Harry built his endurance to the level of his running partner; they had taken to challenging each other to races around the block every few days. His sprinting drills had allowed him to become quicker on his feet, and his other training had improved his strength and physique.

The wiry, downtrodden Harry Potter that had returned that summer to Privet Drive was no more; in his place was a physically fit, well-dressed, intelligent, quick-tongued young man. Harry had grown, in a very short time period, into a new self; even Dudley had become wary of picking on Harry, as Harry was now capable of defending himself both with his words and his fists.

Several days after that June afternoon, Harry had made another trip to Diagon Alley (this time under cover of his father's invisibility cloak) and converted a small sum of his inheritance to Muggle pounds. He returned with Robin in tow to find him a new wardrobe. He was quite thankful Robin had not questioned his source of money. He had also, after one day seeing Robin wearing glasses, chosen to visit a nearby doctor in favor of contacts. Harry had continually struggled with his glasses during his morning runs, and contacts seemed the appropriate solution; he also imagined they would improve his dueling infinitely.

Harry had even grown several inches, much to his own pleasure. He had always been slightly shorter than the average boy his age.

The last change Harry had undergone was to his own perception of self. Through Robin's help, he had developed a newfound respect for his character. He was more confident than ever. Several days previously, he and Robin had been sitting in Uncle Tom's Ice Cream Parlor when the attractive strawberry blond from his first trip to the Parlor sat down at the counter.

At Robin's urging, Harry apologized to her for his awkward conversation in early June and struck up a casual conversation he had not known himself capable of. He returned to Robin's side with a phone number scrawled onto a napkin and an ego the size of Mount Sinai.

As for Harry and his new best friend, as they had taken to calling one another, they remained platonic with harmless flirting and teasing decorating their conversations. Robin was thrilled to have found another friend in Privet Drive, as many of her friends from school were on holiday, and Harry was simply happy to find a friend.

Near the very end of July, Robin had dragged Harry to his first movie theater. Harry was enthralled by the motion picture, and Robin was merely amused by Harry's antics.

After the movie showing, Harry and Robin returned to their neighborhood. The streetlamps about dimly lit their path homes. They were discussing the finer details of the movie when a snickering floated by. They paused and both simultaneously looked to the left. An onlooker may have laughed, for Harry and Robin each rolled their eyes at the same moment.

"What, Dudley?" Harry asked dully.

"Got yourself a girlfriend, Potter?" Dudley sneered. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"Don't confuse me with yourself, Dudders," Harry chided, indicating the latter of Dudley's comments. Robin smirked appreciatively. "Robin's a friend who happens to be a girl. Of course, I can't imagine you would understand that concept either; when was the last time a female looked at you remotely?"

Dudley glared at his significantly smaller cousin, despite how much he had grown over the summer. He heavily considered hitting Harry across the nose, but he distinctly remembered Robin's painfully sharp knee across his stomach. He wanted to keep his dinner down.

"You're both stupid," Dudley answered grimly.

"Insults are the last result of a man who's lost his argument, Dursley," Robin chided in a singsong voice. Harry took comfort in knowing Dudley would never hit a girl. Harry imagined if Dudley ever did, however, Robin would be a prime candidate. "Come on, Harry."

Robin tugged Harry along by the hem of his shirt. Harry smirked back at Dudley before continuing on their walk. He was displeased to see Dudley following closely behind. "What is it now, Dudley?"

"We live in the same house, stupid."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. "You don't have to walk so closely. I feel like I'm walking past a very large garbage dump."

Robin snickered appreciatively again, but Dudley merely continued pushing his bike. He grumbled his next words. "At least I don't mumble about other boys in my sleep."

Harry froze so abruptly that Dudley's front bicycle tire ran into his calf. He turned around to glare at his cousin. "What did you say?"

"Cedric," Dudley grinned. It was his turn to have the upper hand. "You're always dreaming about this Cedric; aren't you, Potter? I can hear you through the walls moaning." Dudley's voice pitch changed. "No. No. Don't hurt Cedric. Not Cedric. Take me. Cedric! DON'T POINT THAT AT ME!"

Harry's sense of rationality and his temper packed their bags and left quickly. In his rage, Harry had instinctively pulled his wand on his cousin. His wand tip dug into Dudley's second chin.

"Don't ever speak about Cedric," Harry hissed in a voice so menacing even Dudley flinched.

"Put it away," he whimpered.

"Harry," Robin called quietly beside the pair.

"You've no idea, Dudley," Harry growled. He had forgotten whom he was with and where he was. "You insolent brat. Don't ever talk to me about Cedric."

"Fine," Dudley answered. He tried to sound like the big-man of the situation, but the cracking of his voice gave him away. After glaring at him for a moment more, Harry finally pocketed his wand and turned back to Robin. He started, having forgot momentarily that she was present.

Unquestioningly, she beckoned for Harry to continue walking with her. Cautiously, Dudley followed behind. Harry heaved a large sigh; his mind was working overtime to think of an excuse to placate Robin when she later, inevitably, questioned his actions.

The three walked along in silence, entering the alleyway that would return them to the heart of their neighborhood. The only sound came from the whirring of Dudley's bike as he pushed it along.

"Walk faster, Potter," Dudley hissed quietly. "Mum expects me home in five minutes."

Harry rolled his eyes. Whenever Dudley was expected home, Harry was expected home no less than ten minutes earlier. It was an unspoken rule that had cost him many dinners.

Harry was readying a scathing response when everything vanished. For the second time that night, Dudley's bike tire scraped uncomfortably against his calf. Harry felt suddenly frozen.

"What happened to the sky?" Robin whispered beside him. Harry wasn't sure whether he felt better or worse knowing that his companions could feel the changes as well.

"S-stop that, P-P-Potter," Dudley stammered. Harry shushed his cousin quickly, but to no avail. "What are y-you doing? I can't s-see anything, P-Potter."

"Shut up," Harry hissed. His stomach was sinking further through his midsection; he very clearly recognized the feeling creeping over his fingers, hands, and arms. It couldn't be possible, though, Harry thought. Beside him, Robin's cold fingers reached out to grasp his wrist. Harry was thankful that she at least had the commonsense to remain silent.

"H-Harry," Dudley whimpered. Just as Dudley's whimper ended, a rattling breath echoed down the alleyway. Dudley made a strangled noise beside him. "This-this isn't f-f-funny, P-Potter. I'll t-tell Dad!"

But Harry didn't respond. He was hoping against hope that the creature (or creatures?) coming down the alleyway had not heard them yet. He was also blindly hoping that the creatures were as blinded as he was.

"Come on," Harry muttered quickly. He made a grab for Dudley, but he tore out of his grasp.

"No, Potter!" Dudley shrieked. "E-enough! M-make the d-d-darkness stop!"

"Dudley, no!" Harry yelled as Dudley began to sprint down the alley in the direction they had come. Harry could hear him bumping into walls with his bicycle. "You're running straight at it!"

Sure enough, a moment later Dudley's squeal echoed down the alley. Harry reached for his wand, but a sudden chill unlike anything he had ever experienced spread through his body. A dry hand, covered only by what felt like the cloth of a robe, was grasping Harry's shoulder, pulling him around gently. Harry fought with every ounce of his strength to pull away.

"Keep your mouth shut," Harry whispered wearily to Robin. He finally found his wand with his fingers. "_Ex-expecto patronum._" His wand remained still. "_Expecto Patronum._" His wand emitted a feeble wisp of smoke; it was enough to prompt the bony fingers to release Harry's shoulder. Free of the direct contact, Harry felt stronger, but only just. "_Expecto Patronum_."

The same feeble wisp of smoke hung lazily in the air. Harry's mind was spinning on thoughts of graveyards, death, and a high-pitched laugh. Robin's fingers slipped from his wrist to his left palm. Harry dully noted he would never see her again. Nor would he ever see his dorm mates, or Ron and Hermione.

Their faces burst clearly into Harry's consciousness. With clarity Harry was certain he would never again posses only moments previously, Harry raised his wand once more. _"Expecto Patronum!_"

A silver stag erupted from the tip of his wand, and Harry felt a burst of warmth spread through his self; his entire body felt tickled as invisible flames enveloped him. The silver stag landed on its hooves, already mid-gallop. The Dementor, now clearly visible in the light of the stag, turned and glided away down the alley. Harry turned with his wand to the other end of the alley, where his cousin was cowering on the ground; above him, a second Dementor's finger was prying at his lips.

"Go!" Harry yelled. His stag followed the direction of his wand. The second Dementor soon turned and fled, across the alley.

The stars turned themselves back on. The summer warmth resumed its rightful place in the alley. Streetlamps suddenly came into view. Harry noticed the feeling return to his body; he distinctly noticed the acute pain in the hand Robin was fiercely holding fast to. She shook her head to clear it and relaxed her grip slightly.

"Harry, what was that?" Her voice didn't tremble, but she was obviously frightened. Harry had never witnessed anyone's eyes spread so wide.

"We should get home quickly," Harry said. "I can explain later."

"No," Robin stated firmly. "I'm not walking home alone."

Harry nodded. He could hardly expect her to after such an event. What could Dementors possibly be doing in Little Whining? Harry had a sickening feeling he was the cause.

"Oh, bollocks," Harry hissed. Looking down, he only just realized his wand was grasped in his hand. Had he thought about it, Harry would have come to the conclusion that attempting to cast the Patronus Charm wandlessly for the first time would have been a suicide wish in the presence of Dementors; he had not yet gotten that far in his self-training, but he decided rapidly that was the next charm he needed to learn.

He shoved his wand away and pushed the matter from him mind. The Ministry would know of his magic, but there were Dementors in Little Whining! Surely that was a special circumstance.

"Let's get your cousin," Robin stated, shaking Harry from his reverie. Harry nodded mutely and allowed himself to be dragged along. Robin nudged Dudley, still quivering on the ground, with her foot. "Get up, Dursley."

Dudley did nothing more than lying on the pavement, continuing to whimper like a puppy in the rain. Harry nudged him as well. "Come on, Dudley. We need to get home."

"Useless," Robin muttered to the night. She beckoned Harry forward. "We'll drag him if that's necessary. I want to be out of the street."

Harry nodded in agreement. He didn't want to be anywhere outside his home if another Dementor was to come calling. He helped Robin lift Dudley's massive arm onto her shoulder and then moved to Dudley's other side. Together, they heaved him from the pavement and began to drag him toward Number Four. Harry left the bike where it lay.

After what felt like a kilometer (although it was little more than several hundred meters), Harry and Robin reached the fence that decorated the Dursley's lawn. They dragged Dudley to the front door. Harry pounded his fist against it.

"Dudley, you're late!" Aunt Petunia called as she unlocked the door. "I was beginning to – Dudley? Dudley? Vernon, come quickly!"

Harry and Robin were just fortunate enough to dodge the sick that suddenly fell from Dudley's mouth as his knees connected with the threshold. Aunt Petunia shrieked and Uncle Vernon came stomping into the hall yelling, "What's this?"

Harry and Robin were lucky, again, to jump inside the Dursley's home before Vernon Dursley slammed the door on their noses.

"Oh, Dudley," Aunt Petunia cooed. "What happened? Are you sick? Was it the dinner with the Polkiss'? Dudley, speak to mummy."

Dudley allowed himself to be dragged by his father into the kitchen. Harry and Robin found themselves alone in the hall. They were counting their lucky stars when Uncle Vernon yelled, "Potter!" from the kitchen. Harry followed against his instincts; Robin trailed next to him.

"What did you do?" Uncle Vernon yelled, automatically accusing Harry.

"Nothing," Harry responded evenly.

But Dudley seemed to have found his voice. "M-magic."

Uncle Vernon croaked much like a frog; Aunt Petunia's hand flew to her mouth. They each turned cold eyes on Harry. "What did you do to my son?"

"Nothing," Harry answered once more. "It was the Dementors."

He was ignored. Aunt Petunia was soothingly rubbing Dudley's shoulders. "What did he do, Dudders?"

"It wasn't me," Harry defended lamely.

"We didn't ask you, boy!" Uncle Vernon growled. At the moment, a tawny owl zoomed through the open kitchen window. Uncle Vernon jumped high from his chair. "BLOODY OWLS!"

Harry caught a letter in his outstretched palm as the owl retreated through the window. He was already reading its contents as Uncle Vernon slammed the kitchen window closed. His fingers were growing numb.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited are in the presence of two Muggles._

_The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonably Restrictions of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

_As you have already received an official warning for a pervious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 12__th__._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

Harry read the letter twice before recognizing that his Uncle was still yelling at him. "What the blazes does it say, boy!"

Harry stormed toward the kitchen door. He was surprised to find a weight on his left arm, having forgot that Robin was still grasping his hand. He proceeded to pull her along as well; he would never abandon any poor soul to the Dursley's. Uncle Vernon reached the kitchen door first.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he spat.

Harry's wand was back out. It hung dangerously between them. "Get out of my way."

"What did you do to my son?" Uncle Vernon cried, eyeing Harry's wand nervously. "Put that away. We know you can't use it outside of school."

"They've chucked me out," Harry answered. He laughed bitterly. "There is nothing to keep me from jinxing you."

"They'll arrest you!" Uncle Vernon challenged, although he sounded uncertain himself.

Harry only knew that he had to leave before the Ministry came calling. Despite his progress, he was not yet ready to be without a wand. His magic needed far more work, and Harry would be left defenseless without a wand. He pushed dangerously close to Uncle Vernon.

"Get out of my way," he growled. He was about to issue a threat when a crack resounded across the kitchen, causing his uncle and aunt to yelp in alarm. Harry whirled around the find a dazed owl pecking on the window.

He ran across the kitchen, still pulling along a helpless Robin, as Uncle Vernon resumed his tirade of owls. He so quickly tore open the envelope that he tore the letter as well. He held the two pieces together to read them.

_Harry –_

_Albus is at the Ministry. Don't let anyone take your wand. Don't do any more magic. Whatever you do, don't leave your aunt and uncle's house._

_Arthur Weasley_

Harry stared incredulously at the parchment. He turned it over in his hands, expecting a continuation of the message on the back. When he found nothing, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He glared at his uncle. "I suppose I'm staying the moment."

Uncle Vernon was not an easily distracted name. "What in bloody hell did you do to my son?"

With nothing else to do until another letter reached him, Harry leaned against the spotless counter (despite Aunt Petunia's sharp intake of breath and narrowed expression) and launched into their night's experience. He explained (several times) what a Dementor was and explained why he assumed they were strolling along Little Whining. By the end, Uncle Vernon was a shade of purple Harry had never before witnessed.

"Get out of my house."

Harry glared at his uncle. "I would if I could, but I'm unfortunately stuck here."

"Oh no you aren't!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "We should have kicked you out long ago. Straight to the orphanage! You've brought us nothing but trouble, and I'm sick of it! Get out!"

Harry was nearly ready to leave with Aunt Petunia spoke up quietly from beside her sick son. "He has to stay, Vernon."

Uncle Vernon turned to his wife, confusion etched across his face. "But, Petunia, he's nothing but trouble. He has to go."

In a whispered conversation Harry was dying to hear, Aunt Petunia somehow convinced Uncle Vernon that Harry Potter was necessary in their home. Still purple, Uncle Vernon marched Harry and Robin out of the kitchen without a word. In the hall, he stopped to usher Robin towards the door. She looked back at Harry in protest, but there was little she could do as Uncle Vernon opened the door and steered her out of it.

"She can't walk home alone," Harry protested, growling as his uncle pushed him up the stairs.

Uncle Vernon's laugh stung. "You certainly won't be escorting her, Potter."

Thrown ruthlessly into his small room, Harry was unsurprised to hear the lock bolt as he landed unceremoniously on the floor. He was surprised, however, to hear something strike his window. Hurrying over, Harry threw open the sash just in time to see a pebble strike his window, the sound once again ringing across the room. Harry threw open the window.

Beneath him, holding a handful of pebbles, Robin looked hopefully up at Harry. "Really, I would prefer not to walk home alone."

Despite his circumstances, Harry found himself laughing slightly. "I think I'm stuck."

Robin worried her lower lip. "Seriously, Harry. I live a half kilometer from here. What if those things come back?"

Harry looked more seriously at her and considered his position. He could levitate himself down to the ground, ensuring his safety; if the Ministry of Magic was already planning to come after him, Harry doubted another spell would change anything. He reconsidered, however, thinking of Arthur's warning. Of course, Arthur had also warned Harry not to leave the house.

"Hold on," Harry called down to her. He rushed to his bed and pulled both the sheet and fitted sheet off, tying them together in a knot. He tied one end to the only bar that remained on his window (the others having been pulled away by the Weasley's flying Ford Anglia) and threw the rest out the window. Harry tested his weight before lowering himself outside the window. Just short of touching the ground, Harry released his makeshift rope and landed catlike on his feet.

He extended a hand to Robin, which she gratefully accepted. They began the walk to her home – a walk that was completed in utter silence.

When they reached Robin's home, which looked much like the Dursley's (as every home in their neighborhood did), Robin veered away from the door. Harry found her pulling him instead toward a front porch swing. He seated himself next to her and waited.

After another minute of silence, Robin finally found her voice. "Magic?"

"Yeah," Harry answered dumbly. "Magic." Robin pointedly looked at him for an elaboration. He cleared his throat. "I'm a – well, I'm a wizard." Robin's look continued, growing more pronounced. "There's a full society of people like me – witches and wizards. We can perform magic. Not like a magic show, but actual magic."

Robin looked away from him, staring across the street at some unknown point. Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Muggles, I mean, non-magic people aren't supposed to know about us for obvious reasons. You can imagine the chaos."

"I'm experiencing the chaos." Robin sighed quietly.

"Listen," Harry began slowly. "I understand if you don't want to be friends anymore. It's kind of abnormal."

Robin turned her head and gave Harry a very peculiar look. "You're an idiot, Harry."

Harry frowned; he knew that being told of his magical heritage after suffering a near death experience at the hands of creature she couldn't see must be a hard thing to hear, but Harry had thought he explained it quite clearly.

"I know it doesn't make sense, but I'm not an idiot," Harry defended in a somewhat hurt tone; he had hoped his friendship with Robin would prevent her from so coldly turning away from him.

She looked pointedly at him again. "You aren't an idiot for being a w-wizard, Harry." She stumbled over the term; it felt foreign to her. "You're an idiot for not telling me the truth sooner."

"I couldn't," Harry responded.

"You really thought, with how often I see you, that I wouldn't find out eventually?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't considered that. "Well, no."

Robin sighed again and returned her stare across the street. After another silent minute, Harry cleared his throat. "I suppose I should be going."

He was surprised to find Robin's grip on his hand tighten, and even more surprised to find himself suddenly pulled into her arms as she held on tightly. After only a moments delay, he hugged her back lamely.

"Harry, don't be an idiot," Robin muttered into his shoulder. She sighed again. "I'm sorry your family is so dreadful."

Harry didn't have a response. He shrugged as best he could. He was surprised to hear her sniffle against him. He pushed her away, keeping a firm grasp on his shoulders. "What is it?"

Robin gathered herself, her expression calming slightly as she looked at him. "I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine," Harry answered. He gave her a small grin. "I can take care of myself."

She didn't seem convinced. "Harry…"

"Robin," Harry soothed, "there's a lot of dangerous magic in the world, but there's a lot of good magic too. It's just sad that your first introduction had to be with something so Dark. I've got lots of friends to look after me, and I can handle myself pretty well. That wasn't my first brush with death."

He cursed himself when her eyes widened further. He lied through his teeth, "Only joking about that last part."

Robin glared at him slightly. "That wasn't funny."

Harry sighed and began to stand from the porch swing. He pulled Robin with him and led her to the door. Harry somewhat clumsily wrapped his arms around her shoulder; she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'll take care of myself. Try not to worry. But it's late. You should go inside and sleep. Everything will seem less frightening in the daylight. I can explain things better then."

"I really don't want you to walk home alone," Robin spoke quietly.

Harry chuckled into her hair. "I'm not afraid of the dark."

Robin picked her head up from his shoulder and tilted her head to properly look at Harry's face. Harry was surprised to see a glimmer of her usual, mischievous character staring back at him. Her lips twitched slightly upward. "Sure about that, Potter?"

At the beginning of the summer, Harry Potter would have never caught her double meaning. Although, at the beginning of the summer, Harry Potter would have never expected to find himself hugging and comforting an attractive girl who lived just down the street. At the beginning of the summer, Harry Potter was shy, passive, and about as quick as 12 year old.

Even through all of his changes, including his redefinition of self and a new confidence, Harry still felt as if someone was attempting to tap dance in his stomach. He gazed at the girl wrapped in his embrace and noted for the first time how close she was standing.

One hand remained resting at the small of her back; he brought the other up to her face, where his fingers chased tentatively across her jaw line. He grinned slightly as he answered her question. "Not afraid at all."

"Prove it," she whispered in reply.

With boldness Harry Potter never knew he possessed, his fingers finished their walk across her jaw, down her neck, and over her shoulder. When he finally lowered his head, their lips met so tentatively that Harry felt it was nearly fragile. Moving carefully, as to not break their moment, Harry's hand shifted to play gently with the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Robin's own fingers pressed against Harry's shirt in response.

They're lips moved against each other, never once breaking their connection. Harry had never imagined a girl's lips could feel so soft; he hoped his own did not pale in comparison. Harry captured her bottom lip between his lips; Robin's quiet groan was followed by an even quieter giggle. She pressed her lips against his briefly before tilting her head down, breaking their connection. Harry's forehead rested against her own.

He took a deep breath and whispered in a somewhat amused voice, "Told you I wasn't afraid of the dark."

"I'll never doubt you again," Robin laughed quietly.

After another minute of silence, Harry picked his own head up and pressed his lips to her forehead. He squeezed her against him before releasing her and shooing her toward the door. "Goodnight, Robin."

She waved her fingers at him as she quietly shut the door. Harry, after a moment's hesitation, turned and trotted down her porch steps. He was torn between utter happiness from Robin's reciprocation and sheer terror at remembering the Ministry letter that sat crumpled in his pocket.

Harry Potter had been having quite the night.


	7. Number Twelve

As could only be expected, Harry found himself firmly locked into his bedroom the following morning. He heard talk between his Aunt and Uncle of the possible reappearance of the irons bars that had so fashionably decorated his window several summers previously.

Taking his time while he had it, Harry threw his sheets out the window and scurried down. Muggles be damned, he didn't care if Aunt Petunia's snooping friends noticed.

Harry found himself making a conscious effort not to stomp through the streets of Privet Drive. After the letter from Arthur Weasley, he had only received two other pieces of post.

The first came by tawny owl; it awaited him upon his return from Robin's front porch. Attached to its leg was a Ministry letter, maintaining the insistence that he arrive in August for a hearing, but allowing him to keep his wand until said day; apparently, he was scraping by with a suspension rather than expulsion. Harry could hardly find the energy to appreciate that.

The second letter came roughly at 3 o'clock in the morning. The hideous elf from earlier in the summer days appeared with an earsplitting _crack_ and a grim expression. Harry had found a nasty satisfaction in hearing Uncle Vernon yelp in his sleep; Harry, too, would have yelped had he been able to sleep a wink. The elf handed him the shortest letter from his godfather he had ever received; he disappeared the moment Harry took the letter from his little fingers.

Much to Harry's irritation, the letter contained nothing but assurances that everything possible was being done, and a warning to stay inside his home during the dark hours. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Sirius new of his nighttime excursion of Robin's; he was beginning to feel as if someone was monitoring his every step, constantly knowing his actions.

Furiously, Harry strode down the sidewalk. He was upset with both his godfather and Arthur Weasley for what little information in such a dire moment they had provided.

He was upset with his Aunt and Uncle for behaving so rashly; he had yet to receive a morsel of food from them.

He was furious with the Ministry. Harry had no idea if Fudge was still in charge or not, but Harry previously thought even Fudge wasn't so stupid as to expel a Hogwart's student in the face of a Dementor attack.

Finally, Harry was so absolutely angered by the lack of communication from Albus Dumbledore, that three very heated, half finished letters to his Headmaster sat crumpled on the floor of his bedroom. Harry finally realized he had no way to put his fury into words, and gave up the letter writing for a bad job.

The only ray of hope in an otherwise hellacious day, Harry located his neighborhood friend surprisingly quickly. She was sitting on the swings of the park nearest her home, kicking pebbles with her toe.

She didn't see him until he had sat down in the adjacent swing. "Hello."

"Oh, Harry!" Robin jumped. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "I didn't hear you. How are you?"

"Been better," Harry answered. He tried for a joking grin, but he was certain he failed at the frown on Robin's face.

"Understandably so," she responded several moments later. "Are you still, um, expelled from whatever school you go to? I take it you don't actually go to St. Brutus'…"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Pegged that one right. Turns out I'm only suspended. What a relief."

Robin smiled slightly at his sarcasm, but she didn't look directly at him. She was focused at a point somewhere over his shoulder. It took her nearly a full minute to shake her head and look back to him. "So, I wanted to talk to you."

Harry groaned; he hadn't meant to, but he was sure this moment was a long time coming. There was no possible way a sweet, happy Muggle like Robin would want anything to do with his chaotic, unstable way of life. In fact, Harry would not have been surprised if she found him nutters. He hadn't been given the opportunity to show her real magic; he hoped she wasn't thinking of rabbits jumping from top hats.

"Harry," Robin called. She waved her hands in front of his eyes. "Still with me?"

"Sorry." He shook his own head. "Go on."

Robin looked down to the pebbles and took a deep breath. "I don't want—no. I don't think." She paused. Her next words came out in a garbled rush. "Thatweshouldseeachother."

Harry quirked a brow. "That wasn't English."

"Oh, bugger." Robin sighed, laughing at herself slightly. "I just don't think we should see each other past this summer. You know. As more than friends."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. He realized quickly how rude he sounded when Robin glared at him. He put his hands up in defense. "Sorry. I thought you were going to say you didn't want to be friends. I was just relieved to hear that wasn't the case. Guess laughing wasn't the most appropriate response."

Robin rolled her eyes. "I told you last night, Harry – don't be an idiot. I still want to be your friend."

"Oh, good," Harry answered lamely. He thought about her words for a moment. "You're probably right. We aren't anywhere near each other. That would just be boring."

Robin giggled. "Smoothly put."

"Not to say you aren't awesome." Harry rambled on. "You are. I just don't think it would do anything for our friendship. Might make it worse. You know."

"Right. And now you can go use all of those amazing skills I've taught you to land yourself a killer dame," Robin chided. She swung her swing to the side to bump into him intentionally.

Harry laughed and caught her around the shoulders, pulling her mercilessly from her swing and into his lap. He hadn't done that intentionally, but tried his hardest to quell the blush creeping up onto his face. He looked up at the blond ponytail now in his eyes. "One last milkshake?"

Robin grinned before throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Don't talk like that. It's only the last milkshake this summer. Next summer, I fully expect you to be right back here buying me milkshakes."

Harry scoffed with a dramatic eye roll. He helped her from his lap and followed her from the park. "Expect me to pay for everything? How old fashioned of you, dear." He dodged her fist trying to lightly punch his arm and laughed. "Don't worry, Robinhood; it's a date."

X-X-X-X-X

That night, Harry heard his only living relatives slam the front door and pile into the car. He was grateful for the quiet house, even if he was confined to his room. Harry took the time to close his eyes and lay down uninterrupted.

He was just falling into a light doze when a crash in the kitchen had him sitting bolt upright. His wand was drawn again, whether he was conscious of it or not. He was on his feet quickly.

_Alohamora._

Harry had become so proficient at wandlessly casting simple spells that he hardly needed to think to do so; he heard the light clicking of the lock, and he let himself quietly onto the landing. He was just descending the stairs when a bright light appeared directly in his vision.

Harry would have cursed the individual had someone not captured his wrist. He attempted to shout, but found himself under the influence of a Silencing Charm. He quickly thought the countercharm, his voice growing in his throat.

"Quiet, boy," someone at the foot of the stairs, growled. Harry was surprised to see his previous professor, Alastor Moody, step into the beam of light. Harry caught himself just in time of speaking; he instead mouthed several words, feigning silence. Moody waved his arm, removing a charm that was no longer presence.

"What in the bloody name of Merlin, Moody?" Harry bit. "I was about to hex you!"

Moody growled low in his throat. "You've quite the tongue, boy. Don't forget, you've only met me once, and I was unconscious for that get together."

Harry opened his mouth, found he didn't know what to say, and shut it again. It took him a moment to regain his words. "It was the appearance. You look like someone I should know by now."

Moody growled a response, but it wasn't audible. Harry took the moment to look around at Moody's accompanying friends. There were about ten in total. Moody took a moment to give introductions.

Harry looked around with an appreciative grin. "This number of people flying on brooms through London will surely be inconspicuous. Was this your idea, Moody? I suppose I should have expected it. Your definition of inconspicuous seems to be a wooden leg and drinking continually from a hip flask."

Harry would have sworn money that Moody's lips twitched upward. He muttered, "Merlin, you are Jame's boy," before stalking away to the kitchen.

The woman standing closest to Harry, with fuchsia hair, bounded forward; she tripped over the first step, but caught herself before hitting the ground. "Oops! Let me help you with your things, Harry!"

"Alright," Harry answered, reserving his grin. The woman, he could already tell, was an oddity in a group of otherwise serious individuals. He supposed he better get on her side. "I would introduce myself more personally, but the point seems moot. You can call me the Boy-Who-Lived if you ever do forget my name, though."

The woman giggled, skipping fully into his room. She stopped on a dime. "Boy, Harry, this is clean – this is nothing like my room. Were you expecting us?"

Harry took a moment's pause before answering, "Hoping, more like it. Not as though Dumbledore would give me a heads up."

"He's been all sorts of odd, this summer," the woman offered, catching his bitter tone. She spun around in a tight circle, barely staying on her feet as she tripped again. She stuck her hand in his face. "Tonks. If you call me Nymphadora, the Boy-Who-Lived will become the Boy-Buried-Six-Feet-Under."

Harry grinned widely. "Dora?"

Tonks glared daggers at him. "Correction: Boy-Buried-Eight-Feet-Under."

"Tonks it is, then," Harry laughed. He watched as Tonks waved her wand over the room, and the few remaining possessions zoomed into his already-packed trunk. Harry had packed the night previously, too anxious to sleep; he also wanted to be ready if the Ministry surprised him at the door.

Ten minutes later, Harry, Tonks, Moody, and the rest of the 'guard', as Mad-Eye had taken to calling them, were lounging, albeit someone tersely, in the back garden.

"Fireworks," Moody growled. He pointed at the sky. "That's our go. Potter, stay close to me."

The next hour of Harry's life was one of the worst. He nearly froze to his broom, even while silently performing the warming charm on his fingertips throughout the trip. He was relieved everyone made it to the destination in one piece; he was less worried about Lord Voldemort, and more worried Tonks and Moody would rip one another's heads off. They had bickered continuously the entire flight.

Moments after touching down on solid ground again, Mad-Eye Mood shoved a crumpled piece of parchment into Harry's palm. Harry looked at it curiously.

_**The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.**_

Harry had barely finished the line before Moody took the parchment from his hands and ignited it at his wand's tip. He looked seriously at Harry. "Read it? Memorize it. Think about it. Don't forget it or it'll be your head, boy."

X-X-X-X-X

Moments after rethinking the line, the two homes before Harry began to warp as a third pushed its way between them. Harry watched with interest as the new home came into view; after it stopped growing, the neighborhood block looked as normal as ever. A moment earlier Harry would have never realized magic was happening directly under his nose.

He smirked appreciatively. "It's under the Fidelius."

Tonks and Moody did similar backward glances to look at him. It was Tonks who spoke up. "You know it?"

"Protected my parents house. I did a little reading on it at Hogwarts." Harry thanked his lucky stars he was a quick thinker. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to go boasting he had spent much of his summer reading on the Fidelius Charm and other protective charms for the wizard or witch in hiding.

His answer accepted; his guard stepped forward quickly, ushering him to the door.

Inside Number Twelve was absolute chaos. Several people, including a fair few Weasleys, his godfather, and Remus Lupin, were rushing across the entrance hall. Further down the hall, deep purple curtains were flapping wildly, as if a strong wind was threatening to tear them apart. Most curiously, a woman was screaming profanities.

"MUDBLOODS! SCUM! FILTH DAMPENING THE DOORSTEP OF YOUR FATHERS! YOU TRAITOR! YOU ARE NOT FIT TO LICK KREACHER'S FEET!"

"Give it a rest," his godfather yelled in a somewhat bored voice. After a moment of verbal sparring, Lupin and Sirius managed to pull the curtains closed over what Harry could only assume was a painting.

Panting slightly, Sirius turned to the front door. His face lit up, but only slightly, at the sight of his godson. "Harry! See you've met my mum. Lovely woman, really."

"Your mum?" Harry questioned. He raised both eyebrows.

"Certainly." Sirius grimaced. As an afterthought, his bitter look growing more pronounced, he added, "Dumbledore's here. Said he wants to see you before he leaves. Best not to disrespect the high and mighty himself."

"Sirius!" Molly Weasley whispered harshly. She was already to Harry, crushing in a hug. "You could do with a bit of respect yourself!" She pulled back to smile at Harry. "Oh, dear, you do need some food. But first, you should visit with Albus. He's in the kitchen."

Harry looked all around. Every dark door leading from the entrance hall looked the same. "Which is…?"

"Oh!" Molly quietly exclaimed. "Of course. This way!"

On his way to the kitchen, Fred and George, who were both leaning on the railing, whispered a giggled behind their hands; Fred swooned dramatically into George's arms at Harry's passing. Ginny gave him a welcoming grin from where she was standing against the staircase beneath her brothers. It seemed Ron and Hermione had scurried off.

The kitchen of Number Twelve, Harry noted, was only marginally cleaner than the entrance hall. It did help to have an abundance of candles floating overhead, casting light all about the room.

Albus Dumbledore was seated at the end of the dining table. He was casually reading his mail.

"Evening, Harry," he greeted politely.

Harry sat down and made himself comfortable before throwing out a casual, "Evening."

"I trust you are doing well," Albus continued. Harry heard Sirius, who had taken to leaning against the kitchen doorframe, snort in amusement; Harry smirked briefly, watching as his headmaster continued to flip through letters.

After several minutes of very strange silence, in which Harry took good time to stare up at the dingy ceiling, Albus Dumbledore set down his letters and focused on Harry. "I ask you, Harry, will you please recount what happened several nights previously?"

Harry sighed, taking his own vision from the ceiling to look blankly at Dumbledore. "You don't already know, sir?"

Dumbledore prompted him, " Harry, please."

Their staring last several more minutes before Harry sighed and leaned back casually in his chair. "I assume you've been keeping an eye on me so something like this wouldn't happen. So I would like to know why it did?"

Albus' left eyebrow raised marginally in surprise. "What makes you think we kept watch on you, Harry?"

"Your morning watch person was about as quiet as an elephant while trying to run after me," Harry answered in a voice just as calm.

"I admit," Dumbledore began. No remorse for his actions was evident in his voice. "We did keep an eye on your activities for your safety, Harry, but you must understand, it is pertinent to keep you safe in the present time."

Harry fought not to roll his eyes, but he had no other response. He knew Dumbledore needed him alive and well until Voldemort's demise, but neither party would ever introduce that topic to conversation. Instead, he chose to retell the tale.

"I was on my way home with my friend and cousin when a couple of Dementor's cornered us in an alley. One came from the east; the other came from the west. My cousin ran straight into them. I pulled my wand for a Patronus. They flew off to wherever Dementor's go in their free time. My friend, cousin and I returned to my Aunt and Uncle's. They screamed a bit. And I've gone hungry the last few days waiting for you to show up."

Albus Dumbledore studied Harry carefully as he casually leaned back in his kitchen chair; Harry studied the Headmaster just as calmly. Albus was wondering where Harry had found this new outspoken character; Harry knew he was being analyzed and chose to show no other emotion.

"Is that all? I really am hungry."

"Let me get you something, dear," Molly answered him quietly from beside the sink. Harry turned to smile kindly at her with a, "Thank you."

"Harry, I would like to be blatant with you."

"This will be a first," Harry muttered quietly into the bowl of soup now steaming in front oh him. Albus didn't seem to hear him.

"The Ministry hearing is of concern to all of us, and you should not take this matter lightly. In your absence from the wizarding world, Minister Fudge has done everything in his power in discredit your story and the death of Cedric Diggory. If given the chance to discredit you further, he will surely take it to maintain peace in the wizarding community."

Harry already knew all of this. He blew lightly onto his dinner before taking a bite. "What's being done in my defense?"

"That's rather difficult," Albus sighed. He looked genuinely tired for a moment. "I have spoken with your Aunt and Uncle. I wish to take the memory from your cousin of that night to present in court. However, they have not allowed me within two hundred feet of their boy, and to take the memory by force will not stand in court."

"Take it from Robin," Harry offered immediately. "She won't be as idiotic as Dudley."

"Your friend, Harry, has been taken care of." Dumbledore removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his periwinkle robes. "As she is a Muggle, she is in danger knowing of our world. We have seen to it that her memory has been modified as little as possible and—"

The chair next to Harry exploded into dust, evoking several screams and yelps throughout the room. It had been a while since Harry had accidentally lost control of his magic. His brow was sprinkled with perspiration; his pupils were large and dark; his breaths were coming harshly; his face was heated in color. The spoon in his hand lay abandoned on the floor.

"You did what?" he growled so quietly several of the room's occupants did not hear him.

"Your friend Robin does not remember the Dementor attacks. She does not remember your confession to her as a wizard. She will remember nothing in between, but we have arranged for that. We have feigned a bump on the head from a trip and fall, and we have informed her parents she has a very mild concussion. We did not need to leave any loose ends, Harry. She is safer this way."

Harry was at a loss for words. He was more furious with his Headmaster than he could ever remember being previously. Not only had he taken precious memories from his friend, he had done so without an ounce of permission. Harry breathed out slowly. "You tampered with her memory without her knowledge?"

"It's a very safe spell, I assure you," Albus answered calmly. He finished cleaning his glasses and replaced them. He intertwined his fingers and looked to the ceiling.

"You manipulative bastard," Harry hissed. Molly beside him shrieked, but Harry ignored her. Now one of his best friends no longer knew his secret; she no longer shared that bond with him. Further, if the spell worked like Harry suspected, she would no longer remember their kiss; she would probably also not know of their goodbye. Harry could only imagine how upset she would be to find out he had left without goodbye. His voice had gone dry. "She is not your play putty, and I am not your pawn. You shouldn't be able to mold her memory how you please, and you certainly cannot manipulate me as you see fit, Dumbledore."

Harry stood from the table and stalked to the door without another word. Sirius opened the door for him without prelude, and Harry found himself free to stalk about the grim interior of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.


	8. Spitfire

**A/N:** I apologize for the huge lack in updates for months now. I knew there would be a small lag in updates with the beginning of a new semester, but I was unprepared for events that took place within my family and friends. I've been dealing with new problems for the past few months, in addition to school in work. Not only did I not have time to write, but I felt utterly uncreative for quite some time. I worked on this piece a bit over Christmas, and I wanted to give it to you now. My next two weeks are extremely busy (I'm moving again), but I'll try to update within the three weeks time. I am almost done with the chapter that follows this one, so hopefully it will be even sooner than three weeks.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I tried to make it a bit longer to make up for a lack of activity on my part. As always, I appreciate constructive criticism. Happy New Years.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry found the stairs a short stalk later. He had only climbed one flight before realizing he hadn't a clue where he was heading. Looking up, he noticed the house was at least three stories higher; it was absolutely huge! Raising an eyebrow, Harry continued upward.

Two flights later, something small and gray whizzed near his ear. Harry spun to the side with a yelled, "Hey!"

"Oh, sorry, mate," George grinned apologetically. Harry saw him shove a bag of what looked like dung bombs into his pocket. "Didn't see you coming."

His twin stood up to meet Harry on the stairs. "Oooh," Fred whistled lowly, taking a firm grasp on Harry's upper arm. "Look, Georgie, little Harry grew up!"

"You two are insufferable," Ginny scoffed, steeling into George's coat pocket and reclaiming the bag of dung bombs for her self. She continued to launch them happily over the third floor landing. After hitting the painting of a sneering man who was went running out of frame (which Harry suspected had been Ginny's intended target at her devilish grin), she looked up at him happily. "How's it going, Harry?"

"Been better," Harry answered truthfully. He was no longer seething, but he still felt an immense amount of anger at his Headmaster. Harry hesitated before asking, "Where's Ron and Hermione?"

Ginny shrugged; Fred and George visibly rolled their eyes. "Good luck," George responded. "Those two have kept entirely to themselves all summer."

"Can't say we've helped that at all," Fred snickered appreciatively.

"What did you three do?" Harry asked, putting his hands on his hips and assuming a voice much like Molly Weasley.

Ginny visibly shivered. "Geez, Harry, don't do that. We don't need another mum running around."

"Might have gotten into a little tiff with them," Fred shrugged.

"I still blame Dumbledore," Ginny answered bitterly. She chucked another dung bomb at the wall across the hall.

"He let Hermione out to do some book shopping." George rolled his eyes heavily. "She's been the only one of us to leave this damned house all summer."

Harry looked at them curiously. "You mean to say you've been trapped inside all summer?"

"Haven't seen sunlight since the Hogwarts Express return trip," Ginny muttered darkly. "Hermione got permission from Dumbledore to do some book shopping. Of course, we can't go out to play Quidditch, but Dumbledore had enough people to offer Hermione a guard so she could venture into Diagon Alley."

"Dumbledore let Hermione out for shopping, but wouldn't let you three out to fly?" Harry questioned.

"Apparently, her trip is more important as it's 'knowledge oriented.'" Fred's fingered heavily air quoted his words. "Our request was petty, or something along those lines."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Where's Ron come into all of this?"

"Bloody twit took Hermione's side in all this," Ginny responded evenly.

"Can't say he'll be joining our Quidditch games anytime in the near future," Fred sighed.

George snickered. "Can't say he enjoyed our gift either."

At Harry's questioning look, Fred answered, "We may have replaced his broom with an old battered one we found around the house. Of course, we didn't do anything to his, but he didn't know that. Gave him quite the scare."

Harry laughed momentarily. "Sounds justified. I'm thrilled they came to greet me at the door."

Ginny looked up at him seriously. "They really are all out of sorts, Harry. They've only been speaking with one another for the last several weeks. Although, we've hardly extended an invitation to them for conversation."

Harry sighed. "Suppose I'll go get those hello's out of the way. Anyone want to join?"

"I'll go," Ginny offered. "We're running low on dung bombs anyways, and we'll need them to check meeting security." Harry raised his eyebrows once more. "They always put anti-eavesdropping charms up on the door. If you chuck a bomb at them and it bounces away before it reaches the wood, there's a charm up. If it hits the wood, we've gotten lucky and we can sometimes hear what's happening. When Dumbledore's not there they'll sometimes forget to put up the privacy charms."

"Smart," Harry complimented.

Ginny led him back down the stairs and through another dingy hallway. She stopped in front of a door with a dingy, golden plate screwed into its wooden; the name had been magically wiped and the slate sat empty of an occupant. Ginny lifted her hand to knock and allowed herself in without waiting for a response.

Harry followed her through the door. Hermione and Ron, who had been sitting cross-legged on a bed, jumped apart slightly, looking to see who had interrupted them without prelude. Ron took several moments longing to register the entirety of the party. Hermione, however, wasted no time in launching herself off of the bed and into the arms of one Harry James Potter.

"Oh, Harry!" She exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on tightly. While being mildly suffocated by her brunette locks, Harry took a moment to notice the usually frizzy hair she sported had tamed itself in his absence. "You're back!"

"Good observation, Hermione," Harry answered, hugging her in return. His anger at having not heard from her for much of the summer dissipated slightly at her warm greeting. Harry grinned a little to himself; he had never been good at staying mad at this witch.

She finally released him a moment later and stepped back to grin up at him. She tilted her head to the side. "You're taller."

Harry grinned, reaching forward to muss her hair with his hand. "You're not as frizzy."

Hermione glared at him, stalking back to sit on the bed once more; Harry highly doubted she was actually upset, his suspicions confirmed when he noticed her hiding the tiniest of grins. He turned to his other claimed best friend.

"Hi, Ron."

Ron offered Harry a shaky grin. "How's it going, mate?"

"Brilliant," Harry offered sarcastically. "While you two spent your summer all cozy up here, I made friends with a couple of Dementors."

Ron visibly flushed. "It's not like that. Dumbledore wouldn't let us write to you."

"They managed it," Harry answered, crooking a finger over his shoulder at the two twins, who were grinning without abandon. Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron, who simply shrunk back into the bed, his eyes darting down to his knees. He shifted his gaze to the bed's other occupant. "Been busy as well, Hermione?"

"Actually," she challenged him, not shrinking away like her companion. "I have."

"Pray tell," Harry drawled, zeroing in on her with a hard gaze.

To her credit, Hermione didn't back down in the slightest. She squared her shoulders and glared directly back. "Learning. Of course, I've had ample time to do it, as they've been unnecessarily upset with me." Hermione nodded her head over Harry's shoulder to the three Weasley's standing behind him. She rolled her eyes pointedly. "In fact, had they taken the time to ask exactly what reading material I was so keen to find, they might have taken an interest in it as well."

"Sorry, 'Mione," Fred answered her, using her old pet name. "Just not a bookworm, sweetheart."

Hermione ignored him completely, continuing her glare-off with Harry across the small space. He studied her for a moment before sighing. "Are you planning to explain what you've been reading, Hermione?"

"Krav Maga," she replied after only a moment's silence. She sighed when everyone else in the room conveyed their confusion. "It's a combative style used by Israeli Special Forces. I also picked up a few books on healing, because Merlin knows we're all rubbish at it."

Harry tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. "Why?"

Hermione sighed. "Because ignorance is the worst way you can march into a battle. I've adapted their technique to suit our magical needs. And I already explained the healing."

Harry didn't have a comment. To say he was impressed was the understatement of the century. Where had the studious, hesitant-to-break-rules girl he left at the Hogwarts Express gone to? Staring back at him was a young woman who had obviously changed over her summer as much as Harry had himself.

He heard feet shuffling behind him. Ginny cleared her throat lightly. "Well, I feel rather dumb."

Hermione shifted her gaze to the girl she still, after a month of bickering, called her best female friend. "As you should. Judging before you know the facts was childish."

George laughed ever so slightly by his sister. "Guess we owe you an apology, then. Sorry about all that, Hermione."

Hermione nodded, her features softening marginally. "Apology accepted." She turned back to her best friend. "Is that a good enough excuse, Harry?"

Harry found himself grinning just so at her. "Only if you're willing to show me what you've learned."

For the first time in several long minutes, Hermione smiled. "Of course, Harry."

Harry could not help but to notice Ron's silence throughout their exchange. He turned back to him to find him still fiddling with the bed sheets. "Did you help her with this?"

Ron looked up at him much like a deer in the headlights. "Oh, here and there."

Harry took that as a no.

He was readying a mildly angry retort at once again leaving their genius of a friend to do all of the work when another red head appeared in the doorway. Molly Weasley smiled amicably. "Ah, I'm glad you found them, Harry. Dinner's ready, dears."

Dinner turned out to be a calm affair. Harry spent most of it discussing his summer with his godfather, and explaining why he had exploded so outrageously at his Headmaster (who had chosen not to dine with them) earlier in the evening. Sirius clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder at the end of the story, showing his approval.

"So, this Robin. You said you met her running?"

Harry nodded, sopping up some stew with his bread. "Ran into her, quite literally."

"Mmm," Sirius hummed in approval. "Runner's have always got nice legs on them."

Harry snorted appropriately into his dinner.

He had also had a small opportunity to speak with ex-Professor Lupin about his health and life since Hogwarts. Hearing of the prejudice against Remus upset Harry, but he was otherwise glad to see him well. Across the table, Tonks amused Ginny and Hermione with her metamorphous abilities. Fred, George, and Mundungus Fletcher spent the meal with bent heads in whispered conversation. By the meal's end, Harry was feeling properly fed for the first time in months, and his anger had momentarily ebbed away in the company of his friends.

It wasn't until the plates had been cleared that he chose to break the amicable atmosphere. Just as Molly set down the last plate (Harry had made certain, as she was known to drop things upon hearing certain names), Harry cleared his throat.

"So," he started with marginal hesitancy. There was no smooth way to introduce his question. "What's going on with Voldemort?"

Not surprisingly, Molly nearly tipped herself out of her chair. Next to him, Sirius laughed sardonically. "I'm surprised that wasn't the first question out of you, Harry."

Harry shot his godfather a grin. "Patience is a virtue, I do believe."

"Harry, dear, you're much too young—" Molly began, but Harry impolitely cut her off.

"Not to undermine your judgment, Mrs. Weasley, but if Dementors deem me old enough to die, I suspect I'm old enough to know why."

A silence that was palpable spread around the room. Eyes shot from Harry to Mrs. Weasley, who was clutching her apron with white knuckles, her eyes filled with something akin to terror. This type of silence was something he acquainted with his first encounter with a troll in the bathroom during his first school year. He cleared his throat lightly.

"I don't mean to be brash," he started (although that's exactly what he had meant to be), "but it's the truth."

"It's on Dumbledore's order that we not tell you more than you need to know," Molly answered him curtly, standing up and returning to the cupboards to rearrange the cutlery.

"It was on Dumbledore's orders," Harry growled lowly, "that one of my best friends have her memory wiped. What reason has he given me to trust his judgment?"

"Well said, Harry," Sirius answered flatly at his side. "What questions do you have?"

"Hey!" Fred piped up from the table's end. "Why's Harry get his questions answered! He's not even of age!"

"Because Molly is not his mother and therefore not in charge of what information he is and is not privy to. I believe, as his godfather, that is my call."

"Sirius Black!" Molly answered loudly, turning around from her busy work. "He is as good mine as he is yours! And you will listen to Dumbledore! Harry cannot be told more than he needs to know!"

"I don't intend to do so!" Sirius answered back in a rising voice, his fingers gripping the table hard. "But he deserves to know!"

Molly, her face red and steam figuratively pouring form her ears, rounded on her husband. "Arthur! You agree with me!"

She left no room for question, but Arthur removed his glasses and cleaned them painstaking slowly on his shirt. When he returned them to his nose, he looked at his wife with tired eyes. "I think it's best if Harry hears the facts from us than a garbled version from what the children have pieced together."

"But he _is_ one of the children!"

"I am not!" Harry put his piece in, determinedly staring at his surrogate mother.

Mrs. Weasley looked from him, to her husband, to Sirius, and finally at each other adult sitting at the table. The passive looks on their faces indicated she had lost her battle. With a huff akin to an angered dragon, she placed her hands on her hips and glared at her children. "I want every Weasley _out_ of the room immediately."

There was an instant uproar.

"No!"

"Mum!"

"But we're OF AGE!"

"QUIET!" Molly yelled, her wand in her hand. Each of her children visibly gulped at the fuming woman.

Arthur finally stood from his chair and marched to her, gently removing the wand from her grasp. "Molly, you can't force Fred and George to leave. They are technically of age."

"They're still at school," she protested vehemently.

"I know it's not ideal, but they are legally adults now."

Molly glared at her husband before turning to her other three children. "Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, go to bed. Now."

"Harry'll just tell us everything!" Ron looked to his best friend. "Won't you, mate?"

There was a second in which Harry considered denying Ron any information at all, but he thought over that course of action carefully. If he alienated Ron, he ran the risk of alienating Hermione, who was proving to be very valuable to their cause. Not that he suspected otherwise; Hermione had always been eerily brilliant. He nodded his head slightly and turned toward Molly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but I don't keep things from them." His tone was decidedly bitter, hoping his two friends caught his double entendre. Hermione at least had the decency to blush.

Mrs. Weasley growled and pointed a quivering finger at Ginny. "If you are not in your bed in five minutes, I will hex your arse till it's redder than your hair."

Ginny swelled, her shoulders squared off against her mother. Confidently, she laughed. "Harry will tell me anyways."

Ginny's absolute certainty almost made Harry laugh. Even if he had before considered denying her the information gained at this meeting, he certainly wouldn't now. He had never before noticed how much of a spitfire Ginny Weasley could truly be. He supposed she took after her mother, in that regard.

But Molly Weasley was not ready to lose another fight. "I said, bed. NOW."

Ginny was chased from the room with a series of stinging hexes fired at her heels. She ran through the door cursing up a storm, and her feet went all but quietly up the stairs. Sirius and Lupin were forced to leave and reset the curtains over Sirius' screaming mum.

Five minutes later, every dinner guest minus Ginny sat gathered again around the table.

Harry took a look at his godfather, who nodded for him to continue. He launched into his questions. "Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? Has he been killing? I've tried to keep up, but I haven't heard a single thing. Why hasn't the _Profit_ been covering this?"

"He's kept quiet," Lupin answered him truthfully. "He doesn't want to draw attention to himself. Our source has indicated he doesn't find himself powerful enough yet. His Death Eater forces have dwindled since his disappearance, with many of them still housed in Azkaban.

"So he's building an Army?"

"More or less," Sirius continued. "We're doing our best to keep him from gaining followers, although the Ministry's putting a serious damper on that."

"Why?" Harry asked, although he was relatively certain he already knew why.

"They refuse to believe he's back," Arthur answered. "Ignorance is bliss, as they say. As long as Fudge has a complacent public, he can remain in office. Especially now that he's got the _Prophet_ on his side; Dumbledore's word has never been less credible."

Harry resisted the urge to snort. "What's that got to do with things?"

"That has to do with everything." Tonks answered with a heavy voice Harry had not yet heard. "I know you are not happy with Albus at the moment, Harry, but he's put his life into defeating this man. Fudge is turning the public against him with claims of senility taking hold in his old age, using his support of your claims as his evidence."

"So they think I'm crazy too?"

Sirius sighed. "More or less."

"You've been trying to stop him from gaining followers," Harry quickly recapped. "Have you been trying to recruit people to our side?"

A terse silence followed his question. Sirius finally sat up to field it. "That's been difficult, Harry. I'm still considered a mass murderer; no one wants to dine with a werewolf; Arthur, Kingsley and Tonks would lose their jobs if they spouted off against the Ministry; Molly would cost Arthur his job; everyone thinks Snape's as evil as he his slimy. I think you see the pattern."

"Then what's being done?" Harry asked again.

"We're spreading the word regardless," Sirius continued. "It's been slow work, but we're doing it. Moony already mentioned Dumbledore's support of your claims that he's back has had him labeled as a loon. Of course, some of his more loyal fans support him, but many are turning to the Ministry for answers. We've tried to contact as many former Order members as possible, but many disappeared in the years after the first war. We can't blame them for wanting a more quiet life."

"Is all he's after are followers?" Harry asked after another silence.

His father's two best friends shared a weary look. Lupin sighed before shaking his head. "We think he's after something he didn't have last time. A weapon, you could call it."

"How's he hiding a weapon?" Harry queried. "I can't imagine even the Ministry could miss that."

"Well, the Ministry has been known to overlook things sitting right under their noses – "

"That's quite enough," Molly hissed from her chair. Harry turned to see her gripping the table deathly hard, glaring at Sirius with black eyes. "That is not a need to know piece of information. I think it's time for bed."

No adult spoke up in Harry's favor; even his godfather quieted and nodded his head slightly at the Weasley matron. He patted Harry on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. We're doing what we can. If anything big happens, we'll let you know."

Harry stood up with Hermione and the other Weasleys. He was pondering the information he had just been given when something struck him.

In the doorframe, Harry slowed and turned around to look at the adults sitting around the large dining room table; he was not surprised to find all eyes still surveying him carefully.

"What are you doing for everyone else?"

Lupin and Sirius shared a perplexed look. "Harry," Lupin began slowly. "We've just told you. We're trying to spread the word without being thrown into Azkaban, or perhaps an insane asylum."

"I heard you." Harry shook his head. "I meant, what else is being doing about the fighting aspect of the war?"

"We're trying to keep our ears open," Mr. Weasley placated. "Any weapon that You-Know-Who wants, we're trying to keep safe."

Harry shook his head again. "I understand, but are you really only informing people via word of mouth? Has no one taken into account that this war can't possibly stay so hush-hush forever? I know you," Harry inclined his head at Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the two aurors still seated at the table, "have had formal training for catching lunatics, but I venture a guess that many of you have not.

"Most of you here fought in the last war," Harry continued, with an eerie calm. "I think each of you understand that you can't stop a wizard who's out for blood if your only weapon is Stupefy."

"What is it you're suggesting, Harry?" Harry was glad to hear Sirius' voice carried no hint of fear, but only pure, unabashed curiosity.

Harry chose his words slowly and carefully. "We need to be better prepared. Informing the public won't be enough. I can assure you that Voldemort," a small shudder passed through the room, "will be doing more than recruiting. He will be training. Anyone on his side will be trained in Dark Magic, and I think each of you know that."

"We will not be training ourselves to kill others," Molly cut in quickly. She put her hand on Harry's shoulder and tried to steer him through the rest of the door, but he pulled away.

"I'm not suggesting that we go out to murder every Death Eater and his mum," Harry stated calmly. Molly gasped audibly beside him at his brash response. "But stupification won't hold up against a killing curse."

The entire room was silent. Not a single occupant had expected a Harry Potter, freshly returned from what everyone assumed to be a hellacious visit with the Dursley's, to so calmly speak of murder.

"Harry." Lupin sounded cautious. "Even if it is Voldemort we're after, Avada Kedavra is still illegal."

"Then find something else."

He had difficultly holding back the malicious tone that was threatening to creep into his voice. No matter what the Order of the Phoenix was fighting for, Harry still remembered why he was in this war: had it not been for his parent's murders, Harry Potter might have been an average Hogwarts student. Scared out of his wits at the prospect of a mass murderer on the loose, but a normal teen with a normal family nonetheless. The fact of the matter remained, however, that he was not. He was singled out. Harry felt it was his responsibility to protect himself, his friends, and anyone else fighting against Darkness as best he could. More over, he felt an uncontrollable anger (even after fifteen years) when he thought about the man who murdered his family. Harry was not about to let Voldemort off with a simple stinging hex.

"These people don't belong in Azkaban." Harry paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. "Actually, let's think about that for a moment. After the last war, how many Death Eaters do you think escaped a sentence to Azkaban? More than I'm comfortable with, that's certain. Had we fought more offensively, instead of simply for protection, more of these people might now be in jail – or otherwise incapacitated. The fact is that we did not. There are still loyal Death Eaters roaming free. I suggest we learn from the mistakes of the previous war. You can't fight Voldemort passively. You can't still his return by passing out Anti-Voldemort leaflets. He's back," the entire room shuddered once more, "and if we don't train others to be safe and train ourselves to dispose of these people, he's going to win.

"Voldemort won't care how old I am. He won't care how old my friends are. If you don't wish us to be involved in meetings, that's your decision, but you can't deny us protective training that we need to survive. And I very well imagine most of you could use that training too."

There was finality to his words. He nodded once more at everyone and strode from the room with a casualness his friends had never witnessed before. Those left sitting and standing in the doorframe held drastically different looks. Sirius looked somewhat proud of his proactive godson; Lupin was seriously contemplating Harry's words; Molly looked as if she had swallowed a frog; Ron and Hermione were staring at each other with a baffled look; Tonks looked as if Harry had put on the show of a lifetime.

It was Molly, unsurprisingly, who shocked them back into reality. When she turned on Ron, Fred, George, and Hermione, her skin looked a pale shade of green. They didn't dare disobey when she shooed them out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind them.

Ahead of the group, Harry was contemplating the repercussions of his words; of course, he would tell no one (at least, no one who would go yelling to Dumbledore) that he had taken his future wellbeing into his own hands throughout the summer. He was just weighing the consequences of asking Sirius for help in his training when something caught his attention. At the top of the stairs, Harry just caught site of a red mane of hair whipping round the corner; trailing after her on the floor was the fleshy-colored strand of what was unmistakably an Extendable Ear.

Harry couldn't stop his grin; spitfire didn't even begin to cover it.


	9. Australia

Harry sat stirring his cereal absentmindedly with his spoon. He had experienced a dream of flying brooms and zooming snitches the previous night; while a welcome change from looming corridors, screaming friends, and earsplitting laughter, he had come to realize how desperately he missed the open air. He could only imagine what that feeling was like for his godfather – and Harry had only been in the dingy Black family home for three days.

Down the table, Fred and George were scribbling figures on a piece of parchment and muttering back and forth; each time their mother passed, they stuffed the parchment under their toast. Fred winked at Harry when they caught eyes. Closer, Tonks and Ginny were chatting animatedly about the upcoming Quidditch match between the Wimbourne Wasps and Appleby Arrows. Next to Harry, Ron was dozing into his eggs.

Across the table, Hermione sat characteristically reading the morning post. Not a page into her reading, a small gasp that she failed to stifle escaped her; seemingly, no one took note but Harry, although Ron did jerk slightly out of his stupor. Harry noted her wide eyes and leaned forward. "What's up, Hermione?"

Hermione didn't acknowledge him immediately, wide eyes scanning quickly back and forth across the page in front of her as she chewed lightly on her lower lip. After twenty seconds of careful reading, she placed the paper in her lap, covered her eyes with her palm and muttered a barely audible, "Thank Heavens."

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry asked more forcefully. Hermione jumped; she seemed not to have noticed Harry previously.

She shook her head once more. "Not now."

Curiosity swirling Harry out of his morning peace, he ate hurriedly and cast continual glances at his female friend. After she finally finished her meal, she indicated with a nod of her head for Harry to follow her out. They excused themselves from the table; Ron, now awake, paused his eating and somewhat reluctantly followed his friends from the kitchen. Even though he was nowhere near a morning person, five years of friendship had afforded him the ability to sometimes understand when his friends were acting oddly.

"Ey we 'oin' ou' 'eree?" Ron asked through a large mouthful of bacon. Harry and Hermione simultaneously shushed him as they neared the painting of the easily provoked Mrs. Black.

Several flights up, Hermione ushered Ron and Harry into their own room and locked the door. She pressed her ear to the door to make certain no one had followed after them. Harry, although he indicated nothing to his friends, took a moment to surreptitiously cast a privacy charm on the door as well, confused by Hermione's twitchy actions.

He looked expectantly at Hermione. "Well?"

"I've been getting the post from Aylesbury," Harry had to momentarily do a mental inventory to remember Aylesbury, near Buckinghamshire, was Hermione's hometown, "since I've come here."

"How?" Ron asked. "Owls don't deliver Muggle post."

Hermione glared at him. "Don't be thick, Ron. The Ministry has access to all sorts of newspapers across the country. I asked Kingsley to put in an order of _The Bucks Herald_, and he's been delivering it to me as frequently as he can."

Ron looked at her blankly. "Why would you want that?"

Harry shook his head for his sometimes painfully oblivious friend; Hermione shot him another look. "That's where I'm from, Ron. That's where my parents live. I like to keep up on such matters." A shrug from Ron was accepted as an apology. Hermione put on a slightly abashed face. "I may have done some, um, manipulating before coming here."

Harry didn't ask; he waited for her to continue on her own terms. Hermione finally sighed. "I moved them to Australia." Harry's face didn't change; after several agonizing moments, Hermione continued. "The first thing I did when I got off the Hogwarts Express was to tell them about the, um, outcome of the tournament. They got really worried and asked if it wasn't safer if I returned to living life as a Muggle."

"What?" Ron ejaculated. "That's ridiculous!"

"Ron," Harry started calmly, "they're Muggles. The magical world is completely separate from their every day lives. They think they're safe. If they see Hermione in danger as a witch, it's only logical that they think she'll be safer with them. Let her continue."

"Well," Hermione started nervously; she shot Harry a grateful look. "I only had the rest of the day. I really only mildly Confunded them and Obliviated a memory or two." Hermione was ringing her hands as she paced; Harry wondered how she had held up lying to her parents if she was stumbling through her story after the events to the two people least likely to judge her. "They forgot about our argument, and they're going under different nick names now. I faked a call as my Great Aunt Miriam, who lives in Sidney, and asked them to visit and help take care of my sick Great Uncle Archie. He's actually sick!" Hermione blushed, grasping for an excuse. "But I invited them for an extended stay until the Holidays. I don't know what I'll do then. I hope Miriam isn't too furious when they show up on her doorstep. She adores my mum…"

"What was the whole point of that?" Ron asked blatantly.

"To keep them safe, Ronald!" Hermione stated in an exasperated tone. "They don't have an iota of magical knowledge! If You-Know-Who comes round to their doorstep, which he may do because of my friendship with Harry, not that I blame you, Harry." Hermione took a breath; she realized she was rambling. "But if he does come around, I don't want them to be there with nothing more protective than a frying pan! So I sent them away."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Doubt the war will be done by Christmas, 'Mione."

Hermione glared at him. "When they return during the holidays, Ronald, I'll have to fix things again and come up with a new plan, of course." She sighed heavily. "That's why I was so keen on coming here, Ron. After the second day of break, when I took my parents to the airport, I was on my own. I didn't want to leave myself out in the open like that."

Harry was frowning at the ceiling, only mildly listening to his friends bicker. "How did you Confund them?"

Hermione looked at him with a small blush. "I was talking to Burbage, the woman who teaches Muggle Studies, and she accidentally let slip that one of the glaring flaws in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery is that it doesn't go into effect until the term ends. You can perform magic until midnight of the day we return from Hogwarts without any consequences."

"Why didn't you tell us that?" Ron inserted. Hermione and Harry ignored his outburst.

"That's interesting," Harry mused. He smirked, knowing quite well the other flaws in the Decree. He shook his head after a moment to refocus. "None of that explains the gasp at breakfast."

"Oh," Hermione continued. She looked flustered. "There was a report of six doctors in the county gone missing. Of course, it could just be a coincidence." Hermione didn't look convinced of that. "My parents are doctors though – dentists. If that was the work of Death Eaters… I'm just happy to have my parents safely tucked away."

Harry was staring at her hard. "You say six people disappeared?"

Hermione nodded sadly. "I hope it is coincidence. You-Know-Who hasn't moved out into the open yet, you know?"

"It would be like him to send his followers out to take advantage of defenseless Muggles to get closer to me," Harry spat, glaring at the floor. "We have to do something."

"I'm going to mention it to Kingsley when he comes for the meeting tonight," Hermione answered quietly. "We can't do anything else here, Harry. Don't think of anything rash. None of us can use our wands right now. Especially you, with the circumstances."

Harry played bored and wore a sympathetic grin. "I'm not going to do anything rash, Hermione. Don't even worry."

Hermione gave him a small smile of thanks; Harry almost felt guilty that he was using the majority of his focus to mentally list ways of tracking Death Eaters across the countryside, and his friends were none the wiser. Hermione would love the knowledge of being able to continue her learning throughout the summer holidays, but Harry was uncertain her morals would not turn her over to the adults. Harry couldn't take that risk.

Eventually, Ron declared he was not quite finished with his breakfast; Hermione decided to accompany him down to the kitchens, wishing to ask if Mr. Weasley was planning to visit the Ministry that afternoon. She was eager to pass her news to Kingsley. Harry elected to stay behind, claiming to be just a bit weary from a restless night.

Harry never got his rest or time to think. The moment Ron and Hermione disappeared around the corner, another Weasley walked through his door. She seated herself at the end of Harry's bed, after kicking the door shut behind Ron, and fixed him with a calculating look.

"You," she pointed an accusatory finger at Harry, "are up to something."

Harry raised a raven-colored eyebrow. "Nonsense, Miss Weasley."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "There was a privacy charm on your door."

Two months previously, Harry's eyebrows would have shot sky high into his hairline. A better emotionally trained Harry, however, sat calmly on that bed. He instead looked at her curiously. "You can't hear privacy charms, Gin."

"I wanted Hermione for something so I headed up to our room." Ginny launched into an explanation without prompting. Harry smirked; he was pleased Ginny had lost her shy demeanor and inhibitions sometime in the summer holidays. She took after Fred and George more every day. "I couldn't find her, so I assumed she was with you. I went down here and listened at the door before knocking. You know what I heard? Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "You listened at our door before knocking?"

"When you live with older brothers, you learn to listen before you burst into a room. You never know when you're walking into an uncomfortable and eternally mortifying situation. I prefer not to burst in on the five knuckle shuffle." Harry burst out laughing as Ginny turned a dignified shade of pink. She muttered into her knees, "Bloody Percy didn't feel the need to lock the door."

It took a good minute for Harry to reign in his laughter. Even at that, he still grinned goofily at Ginny as she glared mildly at him. Finally, he gestured with his hands that she should continue.

"Absolute nothing, Harry, is not a normal sound," she said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "You can always hear Hedwig hooting or the bedsprings creaking. Sometimes you can even hear that trashcan crunching paper. There's always some sort of sound."

Harry gave her an impressed look. "That's quite the observation."

"And it's quite a feat to cast a privacy charm when you're stuck underage," Ginny mused. She was no longer glaring at him, but looking at him with plain curiosity. Harry knew she wouldn't rest until she had an answer.

Harry studied Ginny for a long moment. He knew from personal experience with the Weasley's that, despite their varying degrees of tomfoolery, each individual thought of trust in the highest regards (with Percy, perhaps, as the exception to that observation). It was not her ability to be trusted Harry was wary about, but rather her ability to deduce why Harry had felt the need to look into the magic behind keeping underage sorcery in check in the first place. Harry had no doubt that Ginny was bright; perhaps, even, the most quick-witted in the family.

"Can you keep a secret?" Harry asked eventually.

Ginny looked at him pointedly. "I live with six brothers. If I couldn't keep my secrets, they would make my life a living nightmare."

Harry chuckled; he could only imagine what Fred and George would do with full access to all of Ginny's secrets. Actually, Harry Potter was quite curious to hear those secrets himself. He turned to face her more directly. "Secret for a secret?" Ginny considered him momentarily before nodding. "You know what the Trace is?"

"Some charm they use for underage magic tracking," Ginny answered immediately.

"Right," Harry stated. "It's kind of like an aura. In fact, it's more like a perimeter placed specifically on the magical aura of underage wizards and witches to monitor their magical activity outside of school."

"The charm isn't placed on our wands? How do they know who cast what, then?" Harry raised an eyebrow; this witch was quick.

"Long story short, they don't." Harry grinned at her. "It was originally to help keep safe kids who came from Muggle families. It's supposed to be up to magical parents to make sure their children don't use magic outside of school. Of course, they don't advertise that fact."

"How do you know this?"

Harry chuckled; he was right in his previous assumption that Ginny would catch on quickly. "Summer reading."

He was also right to assume that she would not push him when he gave short answers. She understood without having to be told. "So I can do magic. Right now. Because my parents are in the house?" Harry nodded, and Ginny grinned. She whipped out her wand and cast a quick _Augamenti_, a tiny burst of water shooting from her wand's tip and landing on Ron's pillow; Ginny smirked. "That's wicked cool."

Harry chuckled again. "Don't abuse it. If they find out, I have no doubt there will be hell to pay from your mother. Don't tell your brothers. It won't matter for Fred and George, but I can't imagine Ron keeping this secret for more than an hour. And Hermione would lecture us until our ears fell off."

Ginny nodded and laughed along with him. It only took a moment for another frown to form on her features. "Harry, how did you cast a privacy charm without Ron or Hermione noticing? Doesn't it take sort of a, I don't know, flourish?"

"Maybe I'm more sneaky than you think." Harry wiggled his eyebrows playfully, and Ginny giggled, previously forgetting her question. Harry internally breathed a sigh of relief; he had not been truly ready to field that question.

"Think we could use this to eavesdrop on the Order meetings?" Ginny mused quietly, after her giggles subsided.

Harry shook his head gently. "The caster of a privacy charm can always feel when another witch or wizard is using magic to oppose the field of the caster's magic. It's like magnetic spin, if you know anything of it; certain spins act to oppose each other, and magic is a bit like that. I imagine Dumbledore usually wards the door. If I was to try and get past his privacy charms, I guarantee he would notice."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. "Worth a try, I suppose. I really do feel rather worthless. I wish there was something I could do, you know? Well, of course you know; I'm being silly. I just hope my friends are alright; they don't have a safe place like Grimmauld, no matter how dingy it is."

"Ginny," Harry said, sitting up rather quickly. An idea had come to him suddenly. "Maybe there is something you can do. Who are your closest friends?"

Ginny rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "You know, probably Loony Luna. She's a nut, but she's much more bright than the girls in Gryffindor – especially those in my year. I would count Neville as a good friend, too."

"Write them a letter," Harry said quickly. At Ginny's confused expression, he launched into a retelling of the possible Death Eater attacks on Aylesbury, and Hermione's suspicions that her close friendship with Harry was the cause. After he finished, he explained the purpose of the letters. "I think it's a long shot, but I don't want Death Eaters to come after your friends either. I doubt they'll harm them because neither are Muggle-born, but anyone even remotely associated with me should be warned to take precautions. Luna and Neville both live with magical parents; they might know they can break the Trace without being caught. Tell them to brush up on their shield charms. In fact, I'll use Kreacher to deliver the message; it won't be intercepted that way."

"You really think he would send Death Eaters after my friends to get to you?" Ginny asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. "Voldemort's fueled by hatred. I don't think there's anything he would not do to get a hold of me."

Ginny nodded and swung her feet over the side of the bed. "You're probably right. I doubt he'll go after Luna or Neville. Better safe than sorry, I suppose."

"Oh, and Ginny?" She paused in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. Harry offered her a small smile. "Thanks for not shuddering when I said his name."

"I'm not a coward, Harry." Ginny returned his smile with one of hers; her fiery mane swished behind her as she disappeared through the door.

Relieved that Harry had found another friend who was seemingly more ready for the upcoming war than a naïve Hermione and Ron, he swung his feet off the bed and looked at the floor. He also had plans to pen letters to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan; although he doubted they were in any immediate danger, they were his roommates, and he chose to err on the side of caution.

Harry stood up and stretched toward the ceiling; his muscles had been complaining since he took leave of Privet Drive, and, therefore, leave of his morning jogs. He had taken to doing jumping jacks and jumping in place, instead. He had also insisted that today was the day Hermione filled him in on everything she had learned over the summer, and he was eager to start that. Harry was bouncing agitatedly on the balls of his feet when something stung him squarely on the buttocks.

"Ow!" he yelped; he whipped around quickly. "Was that a Stinging Hex?"

"Maybe a mild one." Standing in the doorway, with her hand pressed over her mouth in attempt to stifle her giggles was Ginny Weasley. She sent him a wink that was uncannily similar to those Robin always sent him. "That was for not telling me that secret this whole week. Shame, shame, Harry."

With another giggle, Ginny bounded away from the door, leaving Harry holding his bum with a goofy, lopsided grin present on his face. It took him a moment to regain his bearings. "You owe me a secret, Weasley!"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Later than afternoon, Harry and Hermione found themselves wandering through the halls of the Black Manor, looking for a room no one else was likely to stumble in to. Finally settling on a room only accessible through a side hallway on the third floor, Hermione led the way and Harry followed, secretly locking the door and throwing up several privacy charms and even a Notice-Me-Not charm while Hermione surveyed the room.

"This place is so dusty," Hermione commented, looking warily at the tracks her shoes had left on the floor. "I hope you're not allergic or anything."

Harry shrugged. He was still mildly upset with Hermione for not writing him a letter over the holidays. He had decided, however, that if her information today proved to be useful, he would simply have to forgive her. "I'll be fine. So, what are we starting with?"

"Oh, right," Hermione mumbled. She had never been the type to teach. "So the entire thought of hand-to-hand fighting seems a little silly when you have a wand; I can't imagine a large number of times when we'll be able to get close enough to any enemy without being cursed. I think, though, that knowing something they don't will give us a step up."

Harry raised an eyebrow; Hermione had presented a very naïve perception on the upcoming war thus far. It was obvious she believed Voldemort was back (as proof by her interference in her parent's lives), but Harry wasn't sure she fully grasped that a war, with battles and deaths, was on the horizon. Her last statement suddenly had him reconsidering. He waited for her to go on.

"So I think the most important thing we can take from this is the small section on dodging. It's really something Professor Lockhart should have taught us in that dueling club."

Harry clucked his tongue and smirked. "What's this? Hermione saying something bad about Professor Lockhart?"

Hermione shot him a cold look. "I recognize he was a sham of a teacher. You have to admit, though, had he actually done all of those things himself, he would be a wonderful man to learn from…" Hermione cleared her throat before moving on. "I also think we could benefit from learning some of the key strike points on a person. With magic, I don't think it's viable to get into a five minute fight, but being able to take someone out with one hit could be useful; especially if you're able to sneak up on your opponent."

"You've put some thought into this," Harry mused.

Hermione blushed. "Yes, well, I didn't have much else to do this summer, what with the Weasley's acting like a bunch of pinheads."

"Ron included?" Harry asked, catching her word choice.

Hermione blushed deeper. "Well, he didn't really help, it's true, but he didn't ignore me!"

Harry just made a satisfied noise and nodded that she should continue. "Let's start with what you wanted to. The dodging thing sounds interesting."

Her teeth coming out to grab her bottom lip, Hermione turned in a circle as she looked around the room. She moved to drag a large, abandoned box into the middle of the room. She went ahead, after asking Harry for help, to move around the two bookshelves, couch, and arm chair until they each sat rather randomly in the center of the room.

"I don't really know how we practice this one without being able to use magic." Hermione made a frustrated noise. "What I was thinking was having one person start at one end of the room and the second person stands at the other. The second person tries to hit the first with spells. The first person's objective is to make it across the room, using the obstacles for cover. Of course, you could make it more difficult by not allowing the first person to use their wand, or asking that they actually take down the second person once they reach the end."

Harr's lips turned upward. "That's actually a really good idea."

"Don't sound so surprised," Hermione smiled at him. She turned around to survey the room. "I think something like this would work well. Although I don't know how we do it without actually being able to use magic."

"Don't worry about it for now. What else do you have?"

"Oh, right," Hermione intoned again. She shifted on her feet. "I think it's practical to take a look at those vital target zones. If you can sneak up on your target, they'll be especially useful." Harry nodded at her to keep going. "I guess we can just start with the top of the body. Of course, if you poke someone in the eye hard enough, you're going to cause some pain, but you have to be at a close distance and have some coordination. More useful are blows to the ears, temple, nose, jaw, and throat.

"Hitting an opponent's ears with your hand cupped like this," Hermione demonstrated quickly, "causes a sort of discombobulating feeling; your balance centers are located in your ears, and hitting there can knock you completely off kilter. The temple's another one of those that takes advantage of human anatomy. There's an artery here, the superficial temporal artery," Hermione pointed to her temple. "It's a major artery of the head. The temporal facial nerve's also located there. The bones there are weaker, and you can inflict a concussion pretty handily."

Hermione paused to take a deep breath. "The nose is sensitive and easy to break; also, coming from the bottom with the heel of your hand can cause some pretty heavy damage. You can hit the jaw upward, which translates the force to the brain and causes concussion, as well. The throat's your easiest bet; it's incredibly soft, and a hard blow can crush your windpipe. The best thing about most of these is they aren't easily repaired. Your typical healing spell only truly fixes surface wounds. Reconstructing arteries and the windpipe takes much stronger magic."

Harry nodded with a grin. "I'm impressed."

"I told you I wouldn't just abandon you, Harry," Hermione tried to sound calm, but Harry caught a bit of the sadness leaking into her voice. He sighed and pulled her into a one armed hug.

"I know, Hermione," he answered, resting his chin on top of her head. "You're my best friend. I shouldn't have doubted you."

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, smirking when he made a face. "Darn right."

"I am forever sorry," Harry pleaded with a grin. "Show me more?"

Hermione reached forward and grabbed his hand. She ran her fingers over the back of it gently. "See your metacarpals – those bones near the surface? They're very tiny; you can break them easily." She took his thumb and curled it into his hand. "If I push backwards and up quickly, I can dislocate or break your thumb." She moved to lightly press on his fingernails, next. "Your fingernails are really sensitive, also. Hard pressure to the nail can cause extreme discomfort. Any of these can render an opponent temporarily incapacitated, as there are a couple of nerves that run in that area."

"The ribs are a weak spot," she continued, stepping back and pointing at his diaphragm. "You can knock the wind out of someone pretty easily, and if you hit them hard enough you can send them into respiratory arrest. A little lower," she reached out to poke him in the ribs, "are what are sometimes called your floating ribs. They're attached to your vertebrae only, unlike the other ribs, and they break easily."

"Is there any spell for healing broken bones?" Harry asked. "I remember that Skele-Gro that Promfrey used. That was awful."

"_Episkey_ fixes broken bones, too," Hermione informed him immediately. "Although, it takes a lot of work. It's an easy spell for mending cuts, but it takes a lot of concentration to mend a bone. Remember when Neville broke his wrist? Madam Hooch took him to Pomfrey immediately; I imagine healing just isn't her forte, and that's why she wanted the medi-witch to do it. Lockhart used some cockamamie spell and removed your bones, remember? He didn't break them."

Harry shuddered. "Trust me, I remember."

"Anyways," Hermione decided to continue. "Don't use _Episkey _to fix a bone unless you're sure you can do it; you can botch it up pretty badly. The collarbone is another bone that's thin and easy to break. Also, hitting someone in the kidneys," she poked Harry to indicate the correct area, "can really mess things up internally. You can also hit someone hard enough in the spine to cause whiplash or paralysis." Hermione paused, her eyes momentarily flashing to the ceiling. "Actually, you can kill a person with most of these, as you're targeting vital organs or nerves. You just need to hit hard enough."

Hermione thought for a moment about what she had left out. "The entire hamstring is pretty vulnerable. There are some big nerves that run around there, and you can inhibit mobility pretty handily. Knees can be dislocated, and stomping on the top of a person's foot will break those small metacarpals, too."

"You really did your homework, 'Mione," Harry complimented.

Hermione wasn't listening. She had taken her wand from her pocket and was rolling it slowly between her fingers. After a moment of silence, her face lit up. "Actually, we could use these with magic! I don't know how good you are with a blasting hex, but my aim is awful. With practice though, any of these areas would be prime targets. Severing charms would work well with a couple of places, namely the Achilles tendon. That causes enough pain I'm not sure the victim would be capable of concentrating long enough to cast the healing spell. That's one of the better parts of this, actually: if you hurt someone badly enough, they won't be able to heal themselves; most people can't concentrate that well. Actually, I doubt most people even know the basics of healing. It would require a second person, which would leave the individual doing the healing vulnerable as well."

At that moment, Harry's stomach made a large grumbling noise, informing him her hadn't eaten in the six hours since breakfast. Hermione giggled at him, pulling herself out of her thinking and smiling. "Hungry?"

"This was great, and you're going to have to tell me more soon," Harry made sure to tell her, but he nodded as well. "But yes. Food. Let's go."


	10. Seven

**A/N:** Hm. So I uploaded this chapter last week, I thought. Apparently, it didn't taken. It was probably my shoddy internet connection (oh, college). Woops. I'll try to stay more on top of those little nuances in the future. Speaking of future, I have the next chapter written; I just want to edit it one last time. It should be up soon. Enjoy!

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The next night, Harry walked through Ginny's hall quietly, humming softly under his breath a lullaby that came naturally; he liked to think it might have been a tune from his long ago family. Passing Ginny's door, he drew his fingers across the wood, drumming three times in succession. Only a listening soul would have heard his actions. Luckily, Ginny sat waiting against her door. She felt his taps run down her spine rather than heard them.

Less than a minute later, Ginny appeared down the hall. Harry leaned against the shadowed corner, already waiting her arrival. He grinned at her cheekily. "Evening, Miss Weasley."

"Hi, Potter," Ginny answered back quietly. She grinned as well. Ginny was so much like her older brothers (minus Percy and Ron) in that she always felt a certain thrill at pulling off something big under someone else's nose. She was bouncing on her feet in excitement as they walked.

They traveled the rest of the hall in silence, coming to a door at its end. Harry opened the door for Ginny after a backward glance and ushered her inside. He waved his hand over the threshold carelessly, erecting both privacy charms and a Forget-Me-Not charm; they were quickly topping his list of Most Used Spells. Harry was quite pleased to have stumbled onto the Notice-Me-Not charm during his summer reading.

"So, what are we doing?" Ginny asked in normal tones after the door clicked shut.

Harry twirled his wand over his knuckles. "Over the summer, I had a lot of time to think about this upcoming year. I developed a couple of theories I couldn't very well practice on my own."

"Because you had no other wizard to cover your magical Trace," Ginny incorrectly finished for him. Harry chose not to correct her.

"I'll explain as we go," Harry offered, kindly and tactfully steering the conversation around his power. He waved his wand-yielding hand thoughtlessly; the beaten wardrobe at the room's end levitated several feet from the wooden flooring. Harry set it down lightly in the middle of the room.

Harry gestured for Ginny to draw her wand. "Cast a blasting hex for me, Gin."

"Which one?"

"I'm impressed you know them both," Harry answered with a nod. "You know the school only teaches _Confringo_."

"Which is interesting as it seems to be the less destructive of the two." _Confringo _blasted apart its intended target with the combusting power of heated air, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. _Expulso_, the other curse under examination, used only sheer air power to tear through its target without a flaming trail. "Also interesting is how you, Potter, know of a spell not taught at the school, and specifically know that it's not taught." Ginny shot him a grin before continuing. "Heard about it from the twins. They were trying to develop a makeshift grenade safe for child's play. Ideally, it would blast children off their feet, but softly enough for no physical pain; Fred and George know their market. Of course, you can't do that if your faux grenade catches on fire."

"They know their audience," Harry laughed appreciatively. Ginny nodded in conformation. "Well, pick your favorite one."

Ginny quirked an eyebrow, but turned to face her inanimate object. She took a deep breath, raising her wand to just under shoulder height. There was a moment's silence before, "_Expulso!_" echoed across the walls.

The wardrobe burst into pieces, splinters flying in every direction, excluding Ginny; Harry erected a quick shield to protect himself. Before the dust even settled, he waved his wand toward the largest piece of wardrobe he could find and the chest reassembled itself.

"Powerful," he mused.

Ginny blushed uncharacteristically at his comment. "Thanks."

She watched him carefully as he approached her, coming to stand behind her. He positioned his feet on either side of hers, and Ginny felt her breath hitch as his chest pressed against her spine. Harry took her wand hand, raising it once again to shoulder level.

"Try again," he spoke quietly in her ear. Ginny took a moment longer than before to compose herself; she thought she had conquered her childhood crush on The Boy Who Lived. It seemed some feelings died hard.

She breathed deeply; Harry felt her hand clench tighter around her wand, and knew he registered her magic a moment before she cast. "_Expulso!_"

The wardrobe before them once again blast into splinters, but with more force than Ginny had been prepared for. When the door burst opened and flew into thousands of wooden pieces at her shocked expression, she was saved only by Harry's hastily built shield. The wood bounced away harmlessly, coating the room in a full layer of dark dust.

Other wooden bits flew unceremoniously throughout the air, coming to stick firmly into the drywall and ceiling.

"Harry," Ginny exhaled quietly. "That was – wow. What was that?"

"Theory I had," Harry answered calmly, still holding his companion against him. Only when the dust settled did he remove their protective shield and step away. Ginny shivered, registering the sudden lack of body heat.

"Care to explain, Mr. Vague?"

Harry grinned. "Like the saying goes, two heads are better than one. I thought there was a small chance that our magic together might be stronger than your magic alone."

Ginny stared at him for several moments before stating the obvious. "You weren't holding a wand."

"Tricky witch," Harry muttered. But he wasn't done yet. "Take a couple of steps to your right."

"I'm not getting an explanation yet, am I?" Ginny asked. She rolled her eyes, but obeyed.

"Levitate the chest," Harry dictated. "Keep it floating."

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Ginny cast quickly, a very faint blue spell shooting from her wand to the chest. Harry was happy to see she needed little effort to refocus her magical train of thought; he hoped it was a sign she would be able to quickly pick up on compartmentalizing her magical and mortal thoughts as he had taught himself.

Harry stepped several feet away and raised his wand. "_Windgardium Leviosa_," he said, purely for show.

Harry's similarly blue spell struck the chest in the same point Ginny's magic channeled, lifting the chest several inches higher. Ginny and Harry together watched with wide eyes as their spell's Trace aura began to glow faintly; Ginny's a faint gold, and Harry's a faded blood red. The auras stretching from wand tip to the chest slowly drew together, and the two magical ropes wound around one another.

When all was said and done, their magic twisted together in a faintly glowing double helix; the wardrobe lifted farther from the floor, although neither willed it to do so, stopping its ascent only when its top bumped the ceiling.

After a moment's more awe, the two lowered it together.

"What just happened?" Ginny breathed, staring transfixed at the now quite ordinary wardrobe.

"The first time, we cast together; our magic origin, the tip of your wand, was the very same. Our spell began as one," he offered, purely theorizing. "Just now, we began as two separate forces, but I willed our magic to become one; the spells intertwined together to become a single unit."

"You willed that?" Ginny asked breathlessly.

Harry smiled at her astonished features. "I didn't realize it would be so visually stimulating, but yes; I willed our powers to come together."

Ginny whistled low. "I could feel that. The power. After your spell contacted mine, it was like mine traveled back to me. It didn't hurt, but the energy that I cast toward the chest reverberated back to me."

"I felt it too," Harry offered. "You know what this means?"

"Together we're more powerful than alone," Ginny answered philosophically.

Harry nodded again. A heavy, contemplative silence settled between them. It took Ginny several minutes to remember her original question. "Harry, how did you –" she paused for a moment, searching for the correct word. "— will your magic through my arm?"

"Practice," Harry breathed. He stared hard at Ginny before deciding she was friend enough, trustworthy enough, and certainly brilliant enough to share his secret with; as a contemplative, quiet, observant character, she was perhaps Harry's best vault in which to store a secret. Harry waved his wand over his head with a murmured cleaning spell to dispel the dust from the air. He indicated the couch in the room with his wand. "Let's sit."

Harry and Ginny sat down on the old couch together, Ginny waiting patiently for him to begin. Harry twirled his wand over his knuckles, trying to decide where the best place to start was. "You know that in the final years at Hogwarts, classes such as Transfiguration, Defense and Charms begin teaching non-verbal casting. It gives you the element of surprise and stealth, most notably, but it also teaches you to compartmentalize your thoughts, both magical and not. If you're preoccupied emotionally, your non-verbal casting will suffer."

Ginny nodded, leaning forward on her elbows to survey him.

"It takes a fair amount of discipline. Rather than deciding what spell you wish to use by the end product you wish to obtain, you have to think about the magic itself; each spell has its own feeling, strengths, and other magical properties. Magic isn't innately part of our being. It's a separate entity that we have been given the power to mold and manipulate; the more confidence you have in yourself as a crafter, the more casting abilities you can open yourself to." Harry ran a hand through his hair as he looked out the dusted window. "One of those abilities is wandless magic. I think I've seen Dumbledore do it before."

Ginny nodded. "He always shuts his door without a wand. I just figured it was a really simple spell, and he could do it because he's so powerful."

"Yes and no," Harry answered slowly. "It's not that Dumbledore, or even Merlin or Voldemort, have more magical power from which they draw; it's that they have organized their mind so tightly that they can control the magic they have access to with a higher degree than most. You've seen that for yourself, I'm sure. If you've ever tried to cast a spell you're normally proficient at when you're tired or worried, the results are sloppier. The reason those three wizards are powerful is because they are capable of focusing their magic even under emotional turmoil or mortal peril. Non-verbal casting takes a concentration of the mind, but wandless casting takes a total understanding of the body.

"Magic itself has its own trace. You just saw it, when our spells intertwined – that faint glowing in the air was a magical residue left by our spells. The initial casting was blue, but the color disappeared when the spell struck the chest, the magic flowing into the chest; the spell had its own blue aura. The red and gold colors, though, were our own auras; our own magical traces. That was a physical manifestation of our power; it's the first time I've ever seen something quite like that. With wandless casting, you must find and hold on to that aura; you must mold it to your liking before it leaves your body; you have to have absolute control of your mind to be able to find your magical reserve, though."

Ginny was still watching him carefully. "How do you know this, Harry?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, turning back to look at the red head. "I've got another secret." Ginny nodded her head for him to continue. "That's what I've done with my summer. I wanted to see if wandless magic was a path I was able to pursue."

Ginny was quiet for a moment as she watched him; Harry watched her back. He calmly waited for her reaction, but he couldn't help the nervous feeling that twined over his spine. After their adventure twenty minutes prior, Harry wanted her approval.

After a long minute, Ginny nodded her head. "That's impressive magic. I don't even know if Dad can do non-verbal casting. Not that I've asked, but you know." She paused here, looking at her lap for a moment. "Could you teach me?"

Harry's face split into a wide grin, and he nodded enthusiastically. "I was hoping that would be your reaction. Of course! I don't know how much you heard of the dinner conversation the other night, but I don't plan on sitting on my hands this year. I want to do something, but I won't stand a fighting chance if I go after him with the spell arsenal of a fifth year."

Ginny nodded enthusiastically as well. "Can I help?"

Harry grinned, reaching forward and taking her wand from her lap. He pushed it back into her fingers. "Cast _Lumos_." Ginny muttered the spell, the tip of her wand throwing shadows over their faces in the dim room. "Try and feel for the magic. I can feel mine through my palm and forearm. Especially at the crook of my elbow."

Harry used his fingers to trace over the areas on Ginny's arm as he spoke. She tried to focus on the magic and his words, but she was also forced to devote a portion of her mind to suppressing her shivers. She shut her eyes, trying to pull back her focus and ignore The Boy Who Lived completely.

After a full minute of quiet, Ginny made a noise. "Should it feel like a really faint tickling?"

"Yeah!" Harry answered in excitement. "That's great! It's even harder to feel with a wand, because you're focusing your energy into the wand. When you cast without one, it's just you and your magic. You can feel it more distinctly."

Ginny took another moment to commit the feeling to memory before extinguishing her wand. She looked eagerly to Harry. "How do I do it without the wand?"

Harry took her wand and gingerly placed it on the seat cushion next to him. He held his hands out to her with his palms facing the ceiling. "Start like this. Shut your eyes. You have to push aside every emotion, doubt or outside thought. Even something as simple as a ticking clock can distract you. You have to really discipline your mind. When you feel calm, try gathering that feeling again. You might start trying to find it in your elbow or your forearm; whichever works better for you. Try it."

Ginny sat with her eyes shut for over three minutes. She looked to be in some sort of meditative state – very peaceful and serene. Harry found himself taking time to study her in her most open state; he had to admit that the summer months had done Ginny well. She had grown a bit and filled out in all the right places while losing weight in several others. Her hair had also grown, encircling her head like a halo of fire. Harry was curious if it was as soft as it looked, but he didn't want to distract her. She didn't look like Ron's little sister anymore; now, she was Ginny.

"I think I feel it," she finally spoke, pulling him out of his teenage boy musings.

"Good," Harry answered quietly, not wanting her to lose that feeling. "I want you to start with _Lumos_. Visualize what you want to do exactly. Don't forcefully try to bend your magic; if you're focused, it will twist itself in the correct orientation."

There were another several minutes of silence. Harry watched Ginny's hands, noting their small, feminine build. She had small calluses from Quidditch.

"Have I done it?" Ginny asked quietly, keeping her eyes shut. "I can feel it."

Harry extinguished the overhead light, immersing them in darkness. The room almost completely black, he reached out his hand for hers. Centimeters from her fingers, a faint glow illuminated Harry's palm, and he grinned.

"Don't lose your focus, but try to open your eyes, Gin," Harry spoke quietly.

She did as bade, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dark. She looked down at her own hands and gasped, seeing the almost ethereal glowing coming from her fingers to illuminate Harry's hand.

"_Lumos _is interesting," Harry told her calmly. "There's no wand to project the light source from, so the spell changes mildly. I'm going to move my hand, and watch what happens."

Harry took away his hand, and again the room became completely black. Ginny made a small noise, shifting in her seat. Of her own accord, she moved her hands, bringing them over her jeans and casting them in light. With the small amount of light returned, Harry saw her eyes widen. "Whoa."

"It's also easy to cast for your first wandless spell because the magic continues until you choose to extinguish the spell. You should still be able to feel the tingling in your fingers. In casting spells like _Confringo_, you'll feel the magic initially, but it will dissipate more quickly. _Lumos_ is different. Try to extinguish it."

Ginny shut her eyes again, and moments later, the glow over her jeans disappeared. She whistled low. "That was incredible."

Harry flicked his finger, relighting the candles in the room to give them some light. He nodded. "I know. It's a weird experience."

Ginny looked up at him hopefully, chewing gently on her lower lip. "Could we keep doing this? I really want to learn to control it; with harder spells, too. I don't know that many spells that would be worth anything in a fight."

"I wouldn't think of saying no." Harry grinned; he hadn't expected anything less. "I've been doing some training over the summer, as well, to work on stamina. Fighting's both physically and magically tiring. If you want, you can join me for that as well. We can kick your butt into shape."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at the insinuation she was out of shape. "You're on, Potter."

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_**7.**_

Harry had been staring at that number for a very long time. "Seven," he whispered into the quiet night air of the Black family library, hoping that voicing it would give him some understanding as to its significance. It did not. He made a mental note to ask Hermione if the number held any significance in the magical world; she would surely know.

Curled into a comfortable chair in the dead of night, Harry was studying an old, worn page of the smallest book he had picked up over the summer. The bloodstained journal had become something of an enigma to Harry, always provoking more questions than it answered. He sighed, abandoning the number for the time being and reading lower.

Beneath the heavily written number, which had been circled several times for good measure, the keeper of the journal had jotted in quick curly script, _Horcruxes – 6 or 7 artifacts?_, as if it was an important thought he had wanted to write before he lost it.

Harry studied that line for several moments longer. Horcruxes? In his five years in the magical world, he had never once heard that word. He wanted to ask Hermione of this too, but he had a strange feeling it was not something she would understand either. Looking around the library, he noted the number of Dark books, with tattered spines and bloods spatters on the covers; perhaps his answer lay somewhere within?

Harry shrugged, giving up on that particular note for the time being.

The page concluded with a list. The writer had numbered seven lines, one through seven. On the first line, the name _Slytherin _had been written with a question mark. After, the word_ locket _was written in different ink. _Ravenclaw _held line two, again with a question mark; _Hufflepuff_ and _Gryffindor_ took spots on lines three and four, respectively, their question marks making an appearance, as well. The remaining three lines only held question marks. On the eighth line, another question mark was circled, although it lacked a number. Harry stared at the list, reread the entire page, and ground his teeth in confusion.

When the clock on the wall chimed two in the early hours of the morning, Harry jumped from his chair. He yawned, realizing he very much needed sleep. He looked around the large library before pocketing his journal, and deciding the search for the mysterious word Horcux could certainly wait for another night.


	11. The Hearing

**A/N: **I want to take a real quick moment to thank everyone who has reviewed this story. It's always uplifting to see the readers enjoying themselves, and it helps me to keep motivated as far as publishing goes. So, to my readers and reviewers: you are wonderful, fantastic, marvelous people! I wish I could bake each of you cookies, but postage is unfortunately expensive.

Before I wish you well on reading this info-packed chapter, I'm doing a little self promoting: I've written two one-shots recently dealing with minor book characters. It was an experience for me, as it's something I've never done before. The story genre was also something new to me. If you've got a minute and want something new to read through, I suggest taking a look at each of them (they're polar opposites). They were truly writing exercises for me, and I would love to hear your reviews and critiques. Without further ado, enjoy this chapter, lovies.

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Harry quickly settled into a routine at Grimmauld Place. He would wake somewhat early and spend an hour reading the books he had accumulated over the summer; he was nearly finished with the last one, and he had learned an absurd number of new spells. He was actually beginning to feel as if he could defend himself in a fight. After that, he would venture down to the kitchens, where he shared breakfast with Ginny, Tonks, and occasionally a sleepy Hermione; Ron was never awake at that hour. After breakfast, Harry and Ginny would disappear to the secluded room on the third floor (which Harry had cleaned thoroughly with his wand), where Harry led them through a series of cardio and strength training exercises. He had been impressed with how well Ginny had kept up for not having been on his training regimen for the first months of summer.

Finishing a high intensity work out, each would go their own way to shower before meeting back up to relax for a bit until lunch time. After lunch, Harry took to the same room on the third floor with Hermione; he had to dodge her questions on how he had so quickly cleaned the dust from the room. When he explained he had recruited a bored Ginny to help with the cleaning, Hermione only raised a second eyebrow and asked why he hadn't asked for her or Ron's help. He had muttered something incoherent about them looking busy. It took a bit, but Hermione finally let the topic go. Those after lunch sessions were spent with him and her devising new strategies to train with to ready themselves and other willing students for the inevitable fighting. Occasionally, when she managed to escape the cleaning tirade her mother was on, Ginny would slip into the room to sit with them, putting in her two cents where she felt necessary.

After their planning sessions ended, Harry, sometimes accompanied by Hermione or Ginny, would retreat downstairs to the sitting room. Harry spent the following two hours catching up with Sirius, and occasionally Remus or Tonks. He loved this part of his day, as it was relaxing and Sirius seemed much happier since Harry had taken to visiting with him every day.

Following dinner, Harry would retreat to his room and read for another hour. When Ron left to visit with Hermione (which he seemed to do like clockwork), Harry would leave his room, tiptoe past Fred and George's room, and walk to the bedroom Ginny and Hermione shared. There, he would drum his fingers across the door for only Ginny to hear. She would make her excuses to Ron and Hermione before slipping out and meeting Harry down the hall. They spent hours in the room on the third floor working on their magical abilities and pushing the limits of what their magic together could do.

Several times a week, the two would venture down to the Black family library. It had been Ginny, to Harry's surprise, to explain the significance of the number seven in both their world and the Muggle's. Seven was apparently a number powerful in magic, science, and religion. Magical individuals showed their power by age seven; the Sabbath was the seventh day; there were seven mortal sins and seven heavenly virtues; the Hindus recognized seven Chakras while the Japanese considered there to be seven Lucky Gods. The list went on.

Ginny had also, with a large smirk, pointed out she was the seventh child in her family, and her wicked abilities must have stemmed from her lucky number as the seventh child. Harry had promptly rolled his eyes at that one.

In the library, the two sat together looking through book after book for any mention of the word Horcrux. Ginny had found it mentioned under a list of the Five Darkest Practices Known to Wizards, but they had yet to find an explanation. Harry and Ginny would tire themselves out searching before deciding to retire for a night's rest. Although Harry was frustrated with the lack of results they had, he found his spirits higher than usual as his time went on at Number 12.

When Harry strolled into the kitchen for dinner on the night of August the 11th, whistling a happy tune, he had been utterly floored when Molly looked up to remind him of his disciplinary hearing the next morning. He had completely forgotten!

"Don't worry, dear," Molly answered calmly, although her wringing hands betrayed her nerves. "I've laid your best clothes out on your bed, and Dumbledore has been preparing your case. I know you're unhappy with him, but you should thank him when you have the chance."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry mumbled into his dinner, his mood decidedly darker. He and Ginny spent a full four hours that night throwing spells back and forth to allow Harry to work off his nerves and resurfaced anger with the Ministry. They only stopped when Ginny insisted he get some rest.

The next morning, dressed in the clothes Molly had laid out and carrying a quickly cooling piece of toast she had forced on him, Arthur Weasley accompanied him to the Ministry, where they found the time of the hearing had been changed. After a rush through the inner bowels of the Ministry, the two finally found the courtroom, and Arthur rushed Harry inside.

Harry thought the hearing had gone relatively well. Of course, his batty old neighbor's account of what a Dementor looked like had been a little shaky; he had never known of Mrs. Figg's status as a squib, and he had also been unaware she had witnessed the event from her window. She had, however, accurately describe the feeling, saying she had stepped onto her porch with the intent to help but felt herself too incapacitated by the hopelessness that gripped her. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, had at least seemed interested in Mrs. Figg's description of the lost feelings instilled by the Dementors.

Dumbledore had also done his part, arguing back and forth as politely as possible with Minister Fudge. Harry thought he had swayed a large number of Wizengamot members, but a large part still looked unsatisfied.

Harry had tried to fight for himself, but Fudge had hardly let him get in two words before dismissing him with a curt, "That's enough; thank you."

Harry was now sitting in the middle of the room with Dumbledore standing just slightly behind him. He wanted to speak with his Professor (and possibly take Molly's advice in thanking him for his work), but he didn't think the court would look highly on him speaking out during their deliberation, regardless of them having moved to a separate room; so, he stayed quiet.

Finally, the court members filed back into the room and found their seats. There was a moment of heavy silence before Fudge stood up at his podium.

"Have you reached your verdict?" Fudge shot what might have been interpreted as a hopeful look to the toad-like woman on his left.

"Yes, Minister," she tittered. "On the charges brought before the Court today concerning Mister Harry James Potter, the Court finds the defendant guilty on the account of having performed underage magic in plain sight of two Muggles."

"Have you decided upon a sentencing?" Fudge leered nastily at Harry. Harry, however, hardly took note; he was too busy glaring a hole into the skull of Dolores Umbridge.

"Your Honor, it is the opinion of the majority that Harry James Potter be suspended from participation as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for one school year. He will turn his wand over to Ministry of Magic officials, where it will be safely kept for two semesters time." From the inflection used upon _one_, Harry was quite certain Dolores Umbridge had voted his sentencing time to be far higher. She and Fudge both seemed somewhat pleased, however, that Harry would be out of their hair for a full year.

"Does the defendant understand the charges?" Fudge asked in a condescending manner.

Harry swallowed hard and tried to control his temper. His mind was already working in over drive to find a solution. Perhaps he could stay at Grimmauld Place; Sirius would certainly love the company. Of course, that would leave him at a lull in his education, and he didn't wish to do that. He could travel out on his own to learn; he imagined the fit Dumbledore would throw and quickly dismissed that idea. There had to be something!

Harry swallowed again to whet his mouth. "Yes."

"Very well," answered Fudge. He began to shuffle his papers in front of him into an orderly stack. "You are dismissed, Mister Potter."

Harry stood and strode quite quickly from the courtroom. Dumbledore trailed at his heels, his large strides more fluid than Harry's own.

Outside the large doors, Harry found Mr. Weasley wringing his hands nervously. He looked up expectantly, but his expression dropped as soon as he took note of Harry's face, which could be mildly described as murderous. He clapped a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder and looked to Dumbledore.

"What do we do, Albus?"

"We submit Harry's wand to the proper authorities," Albus responded calmly. His gaze was focused solely on Arthur. "I assure you, Harry will be invited back to Hogwarts by September, whether he carries a wand or not."

"Yes, yes," Arthur agreed absently. His hand on Harry's shoulder was tightening uncomfortably. "Well, we best get you home, Harry." Harry felt nothing but anger toward his sentence, but he experienced a moment of sheer panic at Arthur's words. Arthur patted him on the back quickly. "Of course, you're welcome to stay with us for the remainder of the summer."

Harry's stomach settled slightly. He would sooner face ten giant squids than return permanently to the Dursley's. "Thanks, Mr. Weasley.'

"I'll be in touch shortly, Arthur."

With that, Albus Dumbledore strode away, his long, periwinkle robes flowing gracefully behind him. Harry stared incredulously – not once had his headmaster fully acknowledged him. His temper, which he had succeeded so well in controlling recently, was building to a dangerous level. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times in an attempt to cool down.

"Come with me, Harry," Arthur asked solemnly.

Harry and Mr. Weasley completed the journey back to the desk of Eric, the man running the security desk. Word seemed to have reached him already of the verdict; he held out his hand without question the moment Harry reached the desk. Harry's fingers closed around the wand in his pocket. He withdrew it slowly, examining it closely. Although Harry was quickly excelling in wandless magic, surrendering his wand still felt to Harry as if he was losing a piece of himself. For four years Harry's wand had not left his side; to be separated from it for a full year seemed unthinkable.

"I assure you that your wand will be kept in an impenetrable safe in the underbelly of Gringotts bank, Mister Potter," Eric informed him. "At the end of the two semesters, you may return here to retrieve your wand."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled sarcastically. He turned around and strode quickly toward the nearest fireplace at the right of the hall. He turned expectantly to Mr. Weasley.

"You can't take the floo, Harry," Arthur informed him. He seemed nervous under Harry's blank stare. His voice was so low that Harry barely caught his words. "The connection isn't hooked up to Snuffle's home. I'll have to take you back by side-along Apparation."

Harry nodded calmly. He stepped forward and grasped Mr. Weasley's outstretched arm. Nothing could have prepared Harry for the sickening feeling of being crushed into a tube with suction pulling from both ends. Not soon enough, the sensation disappeared. Harry opened his eyes to see houses Eleven and Thirteen standing next to one another. As he thought of Number Twelve, it slowly pushed itself into view; Harry wondered fleetingly if this wouldn't be his home for the next ten months.

Arthur saw him through the door before excusing himself back to work. Harry was forced to travel to the kitchen alone. He ran a hand through his hair before pushing open the kitchen door. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed nearly every inhabitant of the home was seated at the table.

There was a silence as every eye raised to him. Harry wondered if they had heard the news yet or not. By the lack of reaction, he suspected they hadn't. "Suspended until the end of the school year."

There was the reaction – every member of the room instantly dawned a face somewhere between surprise and anger, each one mirroring an emotion Harry was currently feeling. Unsurprisingly, Hermione was the first to speak up.

"That's outrageous! That's can't do that! It's entirely against the law! You were protecting yourself. The Underage Sorcery Clause clearly states an underaged witch or wizard can use magic in an event that poses bodily harm to the witch or wizard or a Muggle related by blood, and—"

"Hermione." Harry put a hand up to stop her. "You told me all of this yesterday. Doesn't seem to matter. Dumbledore said he would appeal it, but I doubt Fudge will let that get very far."

"But they have to listen!" Hermione went on again. She was leaned forward in her chair, hands gripping the table. "Isn't there a sort of spell for mind reading? We're wizards, for heavens sake!"

"Legilimancy, Hermione," Remus kindly reminded her in her flustered moment. "There is also such an instrument used to view memories, called a pensieve, but the high court never uses them. Memories are easily tampered with."

"Yes, yes, I know what Legilimancy is," Hermione muttered as she stood up and leaned over the table, unaware that she had completely forgotten the definition of the word just moments earlier. It only took seconds for her to snap her fingers in supposed triumph. "What if you appeal for community work, rather than suspension? An alternate punishment."

"I don't think Fudge will let that one slide," Harry answered her calmly.

"Hogsmeade!" she shouted her suggestion, her cheeks reddening further.

"Hermione," Arthur said softly in attempt to bring her back to herself.

She let out a frustrated noise and threw her hands into the air.

"They can't just keep you out of Hogwarts. Even Fudge isn't _that_ stupid."

"Never underestimate Cornelius Fudge, Hermione," Sirius growled from the head of the table. "Did you speak with Dumbledore after, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't want to let on that Dumbledore had stiffly ignored him throughout the entire encounter. "He said I would be invited back to Hogwarts either way, but I'm not sure how he plans to do that. Fudge seemed determined to have his way."

"Dumbledore has a lot of sway with the members of the Ministry involved in the education department," Molly spoke up in his defense. "He'll work out something, dear."

"I know, Mrs. Weasley," Harry answered with no real conviction. He didn't really want to talk about the encounter any longer.

Luckily, someone at the table caught that in his facial expression. Ginny stood up and brought her plate to sink. She started to wash it off, speaking over her shoulder. "I finished that book you lent me, Harry. Why don't I go get it while I'm thinking about it? You can go up and change into more comfortable clothes while I find it."

"Good idea, Gin," Harry answered, waiting for her to finish washing her plate. He nodded to the rest of the table guests before opening the door and following Ginny out. Only when they had passed the portrait of Mrs. Black and reached the second floor did Harry chuckle. "I don't recall lending you a book, Ginevra."

Ginny elbowed him in the ribs at the use of her full name. "I gave you an out, didn't I, Potter?"

"Thanks for that," Harry answered truthfully, steering them toward his room. Ginny waited outside while Harry stripped out of his khakis into shorts and a looser shirt. Moments later, they took back to the stairs and headed to the third floor, immediately turning toward their secluded room.

They spent an hour running and jumping in place, working through several sets of push ups and sit ups, and stretching so they would not become sore. A week ago, Ginny had found a small ball in the house, and she and Harry had taken to using it for agility training. They would stand across from each other, and one person would throw the ball, without warning, to one side or the other. The other individual had to dive to the appropriate side to catch the small ball, working their split second reflexes. Ginny claimed to have gotten the idea from watching the keeper in the Muggle sport of football. Personally, it reminded Harry a bit of his job as a Seeker.

Panting from their work out, Harry crouched down on the balls of his feet, rocking up onto his toes. He levitated the ball in his hand increasing and decreasing the power he used, watching it float higher and then drift back down. He needed to know he could still perform magic without his wand.

"I needed that."

"I thought you might," Ginny responded, levitating the chest across the room several feet off the floor. She had progressed incredibly quickly with her wandless casting, picking up on things Harry had struggled with. He noticed she liked to practice whenever they took breaks, and he admired her drive.

Harry watched her concentrate for a moment. "Are you using both your hands?"

Ginny lowered the chest and examined her palms before shrugging. "I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it. How come?"

"Can you feel your magic running through both arms?"

Ginny took a moment to levitate the chest again before setting it down gently on the floor. She nodded. "Yeah."

"I had a thought last night about something that relates to that." He jumped up to his full height and pointed both his hands at the chest. He normally used only one hand to perform his spells, but he raised both to try. He found it relatively easy. "Do you think we could cast using both hands?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean cast two different spells at the same time?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. "I had a dream about it. I think you were doing it when you raised the chest. Both your hands were focused on the same task, in the same direction, though, so it wasn't something you consciously thought about. Try raising two things at once."

Ginny shrugged, and picked out another nearby object. She shut her eyes tightly and thought to herself for a few moments. Harry grinned excitedly when the chest levitated a few inches off the ground, followed by the nearby armchair. Ginny set the two objects down gently with a sigh. "That takes a lot of energy."

"I'm sure you'd get better with practice," Harry mused, picking out two objects for himself. He was ecstatic to find splitting his magic powers between both hands wasn't particularly hard. He grinned at Ginny, jumping up and down with adrenaline. "Stand over on that side of the room. I want to try something, but I don't want you to get hurt if I bugger it up."

Ginny did as asked, retreating to the corner of the room. She watched him intently as he shut his eyes and meditated for several moments, centering himself and finding his magic. Ginny noticed his cheeks were flushed from their exercising, and she smiled slightly at the boyish look it gave him.

Harry felt himself separated, mind and magic. He felt the magic running up and down his arms, waiting for him to manipulate it into a beautiful creation. He spent several minutes simply feeling, and another picturing himself as clearly as possible. When he finally thought the incantations in his head, he felt a surge of power through his chest, which ripped with a force down his arms and out to his fingertips. He nearly fell over, but he managed to stay on his feet, opening his eyes to see the effects of his control.

"Whoa, Harry!" Ginny yelled, breaking him out of his concentration and whipping his eyes around to her. She wasn't hurt, but her hand was raised. Harry followed her path to see she had cast a shield charm to the left of him, where he had tried to cast the Incineration charm.

He looked back at her. "Did it work?"

Ginny nodded at the floor to his right, where a large amount of water had puddle. "_Augamenti _and _Incendio_? Yeah, it worked. I had to put up the shield so you didn't burn a hole in the wall."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "I didn't think that one through all the way, did I?"

Ginny bounded over to him, laughing as she jumped over the puddle of water. "No, git. Next time, try something less destructive. Now, move. I want to try."

Harry bowed with an air of performance to the bossy witch, stepping out of the way and sitting down on the couch. He crossed he legs dramatically, waiting for her to begin.

Not wanting to be outdone, Ginny refused to take her eyes from his own challenging expression; his lips were curved upward into a smirk as he watched her, waiting for her to show him she could do it. She concentrated her hardest, vaguely watching him watch her. When she felt ready, she raised both of her arms out to the side slowly. At the last moment, both of her arms whipped around to her front; a blue shield bloomed from her left hand, and a red jet of light shot from her right, striking Harry directly in the knee.

With a yelp, Harry jumped onto his feet, rubbing at his knee where her stinging hex had struck him. Ginny was grinning like the cat that caught the canary. "Oops."

Harry looked up from his stinging knee, fixing Ginny with a playful glare. "You are absolutely dead, Weasley."

Ginny was flying out of the room before Harry even finished his sentence. She shot one last stinging hex back at him before wrenching open the door and tearing into the hallway, laughing happily as she darted away. Harry was quick to follow, sprinting through the hallway with her name and a laugh on his lips.


	12. Riddle's Diary

**A/N: **Please don't yell at me? My teachers got so excited about finals this year, that they wanted make everything start in... April. I've been writing when I can, though! I'm actually posting chapter 13 tonight after work, and possibly another short work I dreamed up. Let me know you thoughts. Enjoy!

~XxxxxxX~

Harry hummed a tune to himself as he worked, eager for the day to pass quickly so he could take to the library with Ginny. He only had several days until she left for Hogwarts, and he wanted all the help he could get in searching for the meaning of Horcruxes. He felt good about the whole thing, certain they would find their answer soon. They just had to.

Harry was cleaning Hedwig's mess off the wardrobe he and Ron shared when Ron entered the room. Without looking at Harry, he tossed an envelope in his direction, his hands busy tearing into the envelope he still held.

"Hogwarts letters arrived."

Harry took a moment to stare at his old best friend. It took Ron several moments to catch his own words. When he did, his head snapped up as to stare directly at Harry with wide eyes, his cheeks blushing red. He stuttered over his own words. "It-it has your name on it, Harry."

Harry looked down at the parchment in his hands. The letter did have _Harry James Potter_ printed on it in neat, curly script. He turned it over in his hands; the Hogwarts crest was stamped in shining red wax. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from it; it looked liked the Hogwarts letters he had received the previous four years. This felt like some very cruel joke. Harry knew, however, that Professor McGonagall personally addressed the letters to Hogwarts students, and he recognized her handwriting. She would never think such a prank was laughable.

"Open it," Ron urged him.

Harry looked at it for a moment more before tearing into it ravenously. Harry had since come to terms with his suspension, but the Hogwarts letter, very tangible beneath his fingers, was a flame of hope. He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until his head started to hurt. He breathed deeply for several moments before turning the envelope upside down.

A letter fell out. No booklist accompanied it, Harry noted. It was only a tiny piece of parchment. He was surprised to see the letter was penned much more personally than usual.

_Dear, Mr. Potter:_

_In light of recent circumstances, no booklist and re-admittance letter have been owled to you. However, after extensively discussing with Professor Dumbledore and the remainder of the Hogwarts staff, we wish to invite you back to Hogwarts under title of Assistant Professor. If you choose to accept, you will return via Hogwarts Express on September 1__st __with your peers. Details concerning this position will be provided immediately upon your return to Hogwarts. _

_I express, personally, my hope that you choose to return, Mr. Potter. You will remain in housing with your Gryffindor classmates, and I encourage you to study outside the classroom. Employees of the Wizarding Examinations Authority will administer the Ordinary Wizarding Levels at the end of your fifth year. The exams are entirely separate from Hogwarts testing, and your suspension has no bearing over whether you sit the exams. Please consider this carefully._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_

"Well?" Ron prompted after nearly five minutes of heavy silence.

Harry only then realized he was staring at his letter slack-jawed. Not only had he been invited back to Hogwarts, he had secured a position as an Assistant Professor – whatever that meant. Even more boggling, Harry thought fleetingly, was the personal tone Professor McGonagall had used throughout her letter. He was not sure she had ever been that personal toward him even in person.

"They've invited me back," Harry answered quietly. He was still staring at the letter.

Ron jumped off the bed and pumped his fist into the air. "Yes! We knew they would, Harry! Dumbledore has too much influence; they couldn't possibly keep you suspended! You're Harry bloody Potter!"

Harry took a moment to give his best friend an odd look, to which Ron appropriately blushed, acknowledging his outburst as slightly uncalled for; then he continued his victory dance. Harry pressed forward. "I'm still suspended."

"I wonder who's made Quidditch captain this year?" Ron asked out loud. He lay down on his bed, feet dangling off its edge, and continued his celebration. "Oh, or who they got for the Defense position?"

"Ron," Harry said sharply. "I'm still suspended."

Ron stopped his celebratory squirming and sat up rather slowly on one arm. "How?"

Harry shrugged. He had absolutely no idea how. "McGonagall says they want to make me an Assistant Professor of some sort?"

"Geez, Harry." Ron paused to snort in amusement. "You think they're offering you the Defense position?"

"Doubt it."

_Crack_.

Although Harry had become quite familiar with George and Fred popping in and out of rooms by Apparition, Ron had not. He jumped out of his bed with a high-pitched yelped that could have challenged any of Hermione's surprised screams.

"Sorry, Miss," Fred laughed, bowing low to Ron. "Didn't realize we were in the presence of a lady."

George sniggered appreciatively while Ron swore under his breath.

"Anyways," Fred continued, nudging Ron aside to sink onto the mattress. "We're here to get your opinion on the Slinkhard book. Who assigned that rubbish?"

Ron and Harry shared a confused looked. Comprehension dawned on Harry before Ron. "We hadn't gotten round to reading Ron's booklist."

Fred and George inclined their heads apologetically to Harry; Harry nodded back without any real feelings of anger of sadness. He was going back to Hogwarts after all, if the letter in his hand was any indication.

"Rubbish," muttered George. "It's a Ministry text."

"Sorry?" asked Ron.

"Ministry text," repeated George. "Written, edited, and published by Ministry officials in the education department. They're the ones who try to keep curriculum up to date."

"Not that Hogwarts really follows curriculum, mind you," continued Fred. "Those Ministry goons would faint had they seen Moody's course content."

Ron, George and Fred shared a laugh; Harry laughed, but it was forced. He hadn't so quickly forgotten that a Voldemort-supporting lunatic had taught his fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts class rather than the real auror Moody.

Hermione burst into the room a moment later, clutching her Hogwarts letter in her left hand and something glinting gold in her right. She was beaming. Ginny followed after her at a more leisurely pace, giggling slightly at Hermione's theatrics.

"I've made prefect!" she cried, holding her right hand (and the object glinting gold) closely to her chest. "Prefect!"

"That's fantastic, Hermione!" Harry congratulated. Staring down at Hermione, Harry realized he was still standing on the chair. He hopped down and hugged his friend happily. "Congratulations!"

"Oh, thanks, Harry," Hermione buzzed. She hadn't thought to tread carefully around Hogwarts-Suspended Harry, as she had taken such care to do previously. "I wonder who the other Gryffindor prefect is."

A strangled cough came from Ron. Everyone in the room turned to find Ron had finally opened his letter, and he was holding the same glinting object as Hermione. Hermione was the first to react, as usual.

"Ron!" she cried, throwing herself across the short distance between them and latching onto his neck. "Oh, this is so wonderful! We've both made prefect!"

Fred and George made retching noises behind them. "Geez, get a room."

Hermione detangled herself from Ron; their cheeks were equally red.

"This is perfect," Hermione continued on more evenly. "This year seems to be looking up already!"

Ginny was staring quite curiously at Harry. She seemed to be the only one currently taking into account how talk of Hogwarts might sting him. She was also the first to notice the letter in his hand. "What've you got, Harry?"

Harry looked at the letter in his hands before glancing at everyone in the room momentarily. He settled for a helpless grin. "Hogwarts letter. I'm going back."

"Brilliant," Fred and George chorused, while Ginny chimed in with, "Excellent!" It was only Hermione who remained suspiciously quiet.

"How?" she asked cautiously.

Harry shrugged. "I've asked the same question. Apparently, I'm not a student. I'm some sort of Assistant Professor."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "Harry, suspended students can't set foot on school grounds. At least, that's the rule at most Muggle schools. I would have to look it up for Hogwarts, of course, but…"

Harry was reluctant to extend such a personal letter to Hermione for her own eyes to dissect, although she was eyeing him as if she wanted to. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest. "I know it's not normal, Hermione, but when is anything that happens around me?"

"Well put, my boy!" Fred exclaimed, jumping from the bed. He and George each threw an arm around Harry's shoulders and marched him to the door. "A celebration is in order, eh?"

"To Harry and his return to Hogwarts!" George yelled triumphantly. He snagged his other arm around his younger sister's waist as they neared the door. "We'll just turn Gin's belated birthday celebration into a full blown bash!"

"Mum will probably want to celebrate Ron, too," Fred mused. "Can't see why we'd want to celebrate having another suck up in the family."

The three boys left the room to Ron's shouts of, "Oi!" and Ginny's stifled laughter.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The twins hadn't been kidding. The party that night had been huge. The noise in the kitchen was constantly so loud that Sirius, in a fit of accidental, raging magic, had somehow sealed the curtains shut over his mother's portrait. It looked to be a powerful sticking charm between the fabrics. Everyone wondered why they had not before thought to do that, and Sirius became an honorary hero of the party as well as it raged on.

At some point, Fred, George, and a visiting Charlie had snuck fireworks into the home, setting them off when the clock struck midnight. The magically altered fireworks rained harmless colors down on the party guests, twisting in and out and lighting up the room brilliantly. Fred and George had never looked so pleased when Hermione took time out to complicate them on the advanced magic of their product. Every Order member made an appearance; Snape even dropped by for several minutes (although, by the look on his face, Harry highly suspected his appearance during the party was accidental). The twins had gone as far to hang up mistletoe, despite their mothers' fits of, "It's August!"

Harry had spent much of his night talking happily with his closest friends, dodging the Christmas weed, and taking time to laugh appreciatively when unsuspecting individuals found themselves trapped underneath. Harry wasn't able to escape until nearly one in the morning, catching Ginny's eye by the door and meeting her minutes later in the library. They had promised to go through the books again tonight, intent on completing their goal before school started.

Harry sighed, flipping through what felt like the millionth book. "We've got to find something. I doubt we'll be able to get into the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. I don't know if we could even find mention of it there."

"Keep looking, Harry," Ginny muttered, a large book balancing on her lap as she wandlessly flicked through the pages, sparing her fingertips the dryness associated with turning through hundereds of pages of old parchment.

With a sigh, Harry continued. They had only one full day left before the Hogwarts Express, and Harry suspected tomorrow would be spent mostly packing. So he buried his nose back into the texts and continued. The family hadn't even visited Diagon Alley yet.

When the clock finally struck four in the morning, Ginny growled into the quiet night and slammed the book in her lap shut. She stood up, running a hand through her long hair. "This is hopeless!"

"There has to be something written somewhere," Harry sighed, although he sounded nearly as defeated as she did. He, too, closed his book, falling onto his back on the rug and staring at the dusty ceiling.

"Dammit!" Ginny exclaimed, rubbing her thumb and forefinger across the bridge of her nose. A moment later, she jumped, picking up her hand and pointing in at the nearest shelf. "_Accio Horcrux books!_"

Ginny was so surprised to find a book flying at her, that she toppled over backwards when it hit her in the chest. Dropping his own book, Harry scrambled toward her, helping her to sit up as she blinked quickly, muttering to herself, "Fucking hell. How did that even work?"

Harry shook his head; he had no idea. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, taking his outstretched hand to help her onto the couch. "I can't believe that would have worked this whole bloody time."

Harry laughed quietly beside her. "I know."

Situating more comfortably onto the couch, Ginny opened the book, titled _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_, and moved it closer to Harry so he could see as well. She located the section on Horcruxes and began to read.

"The Horcrux has been regarded as one of the Darkest acts known to wizards. It fell out of practice in the late sixteenth century as a result of its instability. To create a Horcrux is to sever the soul. One places a piece of his soul inside an object for safekeeping. Unlike wizards, this piece of soul will die immediately upon destruction of the Horcrux (_see below_). If the individual is killed while part of his soul still remains tethered to a Horcrux, he will not fully pass into the next life. If the proper rituals are preformed (_see page 37, Soul Resurrection_), the individual can draw from the piece of their soul residing in the Horcrux to return to living once more. Because making a Horcrux requires splitting of the soul, it leaves the original individual's soul in a weaker state of being. It is advised that Horcruxes be heavily protected. Individuals who have performed the making of a Horrux have exhibited loss of human emotions, physical characteristics, and conscience. Only a man who exhibits full remorse of his actions can recombine this piece of soul with his original. The act of doing so requires him to feel what he has done; the process typically ends in self-destruction."

Ginny paused to look up at Harry. "That certainly sounds like him."

"Yeah," Harry answered back quietly. The book was giving him the chills. "Keep reading."

"The next part's on how to make one," Ginny informed him, looking back down at the book. "To make a Horcrux is to split one's soul. The only way to do so is to rip the soul apart with an unforgivable action – murder. To further one's life, one must take the life of another. After the murder has been committed, the following incantation is used: _I occiderunt virum creare animam meam. _Warning: the process following the incantation is excruciatingly painful." Ginny made a noise at the back of her throat. "Oh, they included pictures."

"That's awful," Harry shuddered. "Does it say how to destroy it?"

Ginny nodded. "A Horcrux cannot be burned, broken, torn, or smashed. The only way to destroy a Horcrux is to damage it beyond means of magical repair. Poisons incapable of being extracted from the human body and magical metals are capable of inflicting such damage." Ginny looked up at Harry again. "Gods, that awful!"

Harry wasn't fully listening, he was staring somewhere off into the midst of the books decorating the shelves of the library. If Voldemort had split his soul, it would certainly explain why the rebounded killing curse had not been his end fifteen years previously. Something else was bothering him, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Next to him, Ginny gasped, the book falling out of her lap and landing with a thud on the flood.

Harry pulled out of his trance to look at Ginny, taking in her wide eyes and hands covering her mouth. "Are you okay, Gin?"

She shook her head slowly. "Harry, what if- what if the diary – _Tom's diary –_ was a Horcrux?" Ginny shook her head again, her arms moving to rub her cold arms. "Oh, gods, Harry, I always felt like a piece of him was sinking into me when I wrote to it. What if that was really part of him?"

Harry considered this, pulling a shaking Ginny into his side as flashes of her second year traveled through her eyes. "I got rid of Riddle by using the Basilisk fang on his diary. Basilisk venom can't be extracted from the human body; if it wasn't for Fawkes, I would have died. But I'm okay, and Riddle's gone, now."

"It was a Horcrux," Ginny muttered into his arm. She was completely convinced. "It was exactly like him. He could control me because it wasn't magic in the diary; it was him. It was a part of him." Ginny knew she had been possessed, but she always thought she had been possessed by long ago magic left by Tom Riddle in his youth. It finally dawned on her that it had not been magic – it had been Tom himself. "Harry, he's been a part of me."

"Shh, Ginny," Harry reassured her, running his hand soothingly up her arm. "He's gone. We destroyed him. That Tom can't reach you any more."

Ginny nodded into his arms, but her shaking continued. Harry held onto her as long as she needed, humming quietly to break the silence, as he knew well just how threatening silence could be. It took nearly a half hour for her shaking to finally subside. Harry could tell she was coming back into herself when she shifted against him, wiggling around under his arm.

Eventually, Ginny found the energy to sit back up. She sought out Harry's eyes, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear and sighing. "Thanks, Harry."

"Anytime," he answered with a smile. "I think it's time for bed."

Ginny agreed with a nod, accepting Harry's outstretched hand to help her from the couch. He waved his hand at the mess they had left on the floor, hiding the Horcrux book in the midst of the others. He would come back for in a little bit. For now, the pale girl at his side was more important. She didn't let go as he led her through the halls, toward the room she shared with Hermione. When they finally reached her room, Ginny turned into Harry to offer him a hug, thankful for his understanding with her small breakdown. Harry returned the sentiment, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"I'm really glad you're coming back to Hogwarts," she mumbled into his sweater.

Harry nodded on top of her head. "Me, too."

"Well," Ginny sighed, leaning back and looking up at his face. After a moment of clear deliberation, she stood on her tiptoes and chastely kissed his cheek, squeezing him once more before turning to her door. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Gin," he called quietly through her shutting door. Harry turned back around to find his own room, although he suddenly didn't feel so tired.


	13. The Dark Lord Lives

Much to Molly's chagrin, Sirius accompanied them to the train station on September the 1st in his animagus form, providing appreciated entertainment for Harry, Ginny, Ron, the twins and Hermione (who, despite taking Molly's side in the initial argument, laughed as heartily as the rest of them) as they wove their way through the packed streets of London. He nipped at the heels of stern looking businessmen, and licked the faces of small children he passed. Harry was happy to see his godfather get some much-needed outside air.

In the train station, they passed through the brick barrier with ease (and a sigh of relief from Harry and Ron) to find the scarlet Hogwarts Express waiting with steam issuing from the top. As Arthur and Moody helped the kids load their trunks onto the train, Sirius took hold of Harry's shirt with his teeth and pulled him along to the opposite side of the platform. There, several rooms meant for waiting sat unoccupied. Harry opened one of the doors and allowed Sirius to pass before closing it behind himself.

Sirius the Dog rolled onto his back, quickly transforming back into his human form. From his position on the floor, he extracted his wand and quickly put up several charms Harry supposed were meant to keep anyone outside from looking in. He stood up after finishing and clasp a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Thought I would give you a proper goodbye."

"Now, Sirius," Harry admonished, putting on his best Molly Weasley voice and placing his hands on his hip. "This seems quite unsafe."

Sirius rolled his dark eyes. "Knock it off, Harry." Harry grinned at his godfather, removing his hands from his hips as asked. "We're going to continue working on your suspension case while you're away. Although, Molly wouldn't approve of me sharing this with you, Arthur said he ran into Fudge and Lucius Malfoy in the midst of a cash exchange yesterday; we're looking into the possibility that other members of the court were bribed into the final decision. It certainly wouldn't be the first time."

"It certainly sounds like Malfoy – a Death Eater if there ever was one." Harry clenched his fists, his lips tugging downward slightly. "Just how corrupt is Fudge's administration?"

"More so than we though," Sirius answered with a sigh. He shook his head, his shaggy black hair swinging into his eyes. "Listen, I've talked with Dumbledore. You'll be able to use a wand at certain times in the castle. I want you to keep practicing your magic. Read up on spells. Try to learn to Apparate if you can; it's not strictly legal, but who gives a bullock. You had the right idea in saying we weren't prepared last time."

"I've already been on it," Harry answered calmly, appreciating the advice and concern nonetheless.

Sirius grinned at him. "You're truly your father's son. I'll be able to send Kreacher to you, but he won't come when you call him; slimy git. You'll have to ask McGonagall to get a hold of me if you need something."

"I'm sure I can get Dobby to do it," Harry answered, confident that the unwavering loyalty the small elf had shown toward him would continue on into the year.

Sirius shrugged. "Not a bad idea, actually. Just be careful, Harry. There are bound to be some changes at Hogwarts this year."

"There are bound to be changes everywhere," Harry answered truthfully.

"Yes, well, some changes in the staff are going to be hard to get used to," Sirius answered, a dark look crossing his face. Harry wanted to ask what he meant, but the whistle on the train blew a moment later. Sirius looked over his shoulder before turning back around and gathering Harry into a one armed hug. "Take care of yourself, Harry, and get a hold of me if you need _anything_."

"Of course, Snuffles," Harry answered, mocking his godfather's silly code name.

Sirius rolled his eyes, shoving him toward the door. "Go, or you'll miss the train. I'll see you soon."

"I'll see you by the holidays," Harry answered, waiting until Sirius turned back to his shaggy dog to open the door. He ran to the huddle of Order members, giving fast hugs and shaking hands before saying one last goodbye. He jumped on the train just as it was beginning to move.

Ginny, who had been waiting for him, grinned at his appearance. "Way to make a dramatic entrance, Potter. Come on. I've got a compartment waiting for us."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Ron's stomach grumbled unceremoniously, the loud sound filling the train compartment until the train's roaring engines, pulling the train from the station, drowned it out. Hermione rolled her eyes as Ron glared at his own belly. "Can't wait for the feast tonight. Who do you think Dumbledore got to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Hermione had just opened her mouth to give her input when the loudest, most terrifying _bang_ resounded; not a second later, a shock wave washed over and Harry distinctly felt the compartment rattle, knocking anyone standing to the floor. He looked up, alarmed, at his friends. A moment later, a second _bang _erupted.

"It's coming from the platform," Ginny breathed, pressing her nose against the glass of the train. She leaned back to wrench it open and stuck her head outside; the wind of the train whipped her strawberry golden hair mercilessly about her face.

Even through the wind rushing past, Harry, Hermione and Ron distinctly heard Ginny's gasp. Several other muffled screams were heard through the corridor.

Harry was on his feet and out of the compartment in a flash. He remembered the bend in the train tracks that appeared shortly after leaving the station; soon, Ginny's window viewpoint would be useless. Only a few feet from his own compartment, Harry found the door in the ceiling he was searching for, something each carriage had. Balancing each foot on the window ledge of the door to the compartments on his left and right, Harry was able to hoist himself several feet off the ground. He opened the hatch at the ceiling and stuck his head outside.

The sight to greet him was chaos. Platform 9 ¾, which had looked so calm less than a minute, previously, was in disarray. One wall had been blasted away entirely (Harry noted thankfully it was not the wall that separated the Platform from the Muggle train station); rubble lay scattered across the floor, blanketed by a thick layer of dust and dirt. Parents were running in every direction, pulling along their screaming children.

Harry could not begin to believe his eyes. Framed in the now destroyed wall were five black-cloaked figures, each with their hood pulled high. Harry watched in horror as the front figure pulled his wand and pointed it at a witch and her daughter running across the Platform. Although Harry could not hear the man, he distinctly recognized the orange coloring of the Cruciatus Curse. It raced across the gap and struck the woman between her shoulder blades; she fell forward, contorting in an ungodly manner as her daughter screamed at the scene.

His toes slipped from the window ledges of the compartment doors, and Harry landed catlike on his feet. He ignored the wide eyes of students who had gathered to see what crazed student was climbing through the top of the Hogwarts Express, and Harry ran the few feet to his compartment.

"Harry! What's happening?" Hermione shrieked upon his reentrance. Harry ignored her, jumping onto his seat and pulling his trunk into his hands. He threw back the lid and reached for his prized broom. Hermione was shrieking again. "Harry! Where are you going?"

"Back," Harry grunted. He leapt to the floor again.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked for the third time. Her voice lowered to a whisper and she hissed every enunciated word. "You can't perform magic!"

Harry chose not to answer. Instead, he reopened the window to their compartment; Hermione and Ron each jumped to their feet; Ginny was staring with wide eyes, quietly cursing herself for having stored her broom in the luggage compartment. Just as Harry put a foot onto the window ledge, a voice Harry would recognize anywhere reached his ears: Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange's magically amplified voice shook the train.

She was giggling in a sickening manner. Hermione actually clasped her hands over her ears. "The Dark Lord returns!"

There was another shaking _bang_ and everything returned to a shocked silence. Harry, taking advantage of Hermione's distracted look and launched himself directly out of the train window. In the wind stirred by the train, Harry actually tumbled over backward three full times before his broom compensated for his weight; he heard Hermione and Ginny call out simultaneously in fear.

Harry shot over the roof of the train, staring back at Platform 9 and ¾. The dust had settled, and the cloaked figures were nowhere in sight. It seemed Bellatrix had issued her partings words. Confused children and frightened parents were slowly congregating in the middle of the broken Platform. He slowly scanned for any remaining head of red hair or a black dog, but luckily he saw neither.

Recognizing that the immediate danger had passed, Harry ran a frustrated hand through his wind whipped hair. With little choice, as Harry knew there was nothing he could do to clean the aftermath of the Death Eater attack without drawing attention to his wandless self, Harry maneuvered his broom (much more smoothly this time) to the side of the train; with some effort, he found his open window ledge and rolled to the inside compartment.

Hermione was still on her feet, shaking and muttering, and Ron was staring open mouthed. It was only Ginny who rushed forward at Harry's reappearance. "Are you alright?" She dropped to her knees next to him on the compartment floor. "Harry, what happened?'

"Death Eaters," Harry said quietly. He was quite certain that Ron and Hermione would not have heard him through Hermione, whose voice was rising in her rage. "Five of them. They blasted through a wall on the Platform." Ginny gasped, and Harry reached forward to intertwine their fingers, wanting to feel someone solid. "No one was Disapparating during the attack; I think the Death Eaters might have put up an anti-Apparation ward. I didn't see your folks, Ginny. I think they Disapparated home before everything started."

"Thank, Heavens," Ginny breathed, sinking forward and resting her head on Harry's shoulder. Taking only a moment to thank the lords for her parent's safety, Ginny picked her head back up. "Was everyone else…"

Harry shook his head slightly. "They cast curses on some of those left. It didn't look as though they killed anyone."

Ginny look infinitely relieved, but didn't have any words to spare. Harry helped her back onto the compartment seat and settled himself beside her.

Hermione, somehow, had yet to come to the end of her rant. Harry finally glared up at her menacingly. "Shove it, Hermione."

Hermione's jaw dropped to the floor as Harry's words hit her. "Harry! You could have killed yourself! What were you doing? You can't even use magic! You couldn't help those people."

Harry and Hermione were glaring so forcefully at one another that Ginny was relatively certain one of them might burst into flames. She took lead for Harry. "Hermione, he wanted to do something to help. You can't blame him."

"He can't even use magic, Ginny," Hermione spat.

"And _he_ is sitting right here," Harry growled. "I appreciate your concern, Hermione, but I will do everything in my power to ensure that no one is unnecessarily hurt by Voldemort worshiping lunatics." Harry turned calmly to Ginny. "Come with me to find the trolley?"

Ginny nodded, standing from her seat and pulling Harry alongside her. "I would be happy to, Harry."

Students were still gathered in the hall, talking with heads bent about what was happening. The eerie silence when Harry stepped through their small groups was trying on his nerves. He rolled his eyes pointedly at anyone who snuck a glance at him as he walked.

"I can't tell if they're more scared of my status as a loon or sad I didn't tumble off my broom," Harry muttered to Ginny, who snorted appreciatively.

"Ignore them. They aren't worth it anyways."

Eventually, the two teens found the food trolley. They conversationally asked the kind witch if she knew what was happening at the Platform, but she politely denied them any kind of information; not that her response was a total surprise. Snacking on Pumpkin Pasties, Harry and Ginny almost fell over when a fellow classmate came skidding out of the compartment in front of them. Dean Thomas looked relieved to see them, instantly reaching forward to shake Harry's hand.

"Harry, mate," he started, glancing over Harry's shoulder with shifty eyes. "How's it going?"

"Alright, Dean. Not sure what just happened," Harry answered carefully. "How was your summer?"

Dean didn't respond. Satisfied that no one was watching them in the halls, he pulled Harry, who subsequently pulled Ginny, into his compartment. Only Seamus was present, and he nodded at the pair in greeting.

Harry looked at his dorm mate with confusion. "What's up, Dean?"

"Listen, Harry, I wanted to thank you for that letter you sent me." Dean fixed him with a serious stare. "Saved my life."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "What happened?"

Dean wrung his hands together carefully. "Mum and Dad were planning a trip to the city for the night after I got your letter. I was planning to stay home and watch the siblings, but I thought about your letter and decided I didn't want to stay on my own. I believe you that he's back. I went to a friend's home for the night and took my younger brother and sister with me. When I got home the next morning, our entire house had been leveled."

"No," Ginny gasped at his side, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

"Lucky my mum and dad were in the city," Dean answered with a shaky nod. Harry could only assume his jumpy manner was from the freshness of the attack against his family and the most recent attack moments ago. Being Muggle born, he could see why Dean might be the most vulnerable target.

"Everyone's okay, though?" Harry asked. Dean nodded. "They let you come back, though? Where are they? They didn't stay in the same town, did they?"

Dean shook his head. "We got in touch with Dumbledore immediately. I thought of trying to get a hold of you, but Mum and Dad were more inclined to go with the Headmaster, you know. He pulled them out of their town. They're in hiding right now at a place Dumbledore set up. Said I'd be safest coming back to school, though."

"Oh," Harry answered, a little shocked. He was happy Dumbledore had taken the appropriate steps. As infuriating as he could be, Harry was suddenly grateful for his influence. "Glad to see you're okay, mate." He turned to Seamus. "How was you're summer?"

Seamus exhaled a deep breath. "Shaky, to be honest. Mum doesn't believe you or Dumbledore. Almost didn't let me come back."

Harry glared at the boy, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "What do you believe?"

Seamus turned to look out the window for a moment before finally finding his voice. "I thought she might be right until I talked to Dean."

Harry still didn't feel totally satisfied. "You should tell your mum."

"I know," Seamus answered quietly, his Irish brogue apparent in his words.

"He's having trouble accepting he's back," Dean whispered quietly to Harry and Ginny. "I think he's worried about his family."

Harry softened a little, understanding that as a legitimate claim. He wasn't pleased that his friend had initially denied his words (and Dumbledore's), but he understood the ignorance everyone else chose to live in was to help downplay the worries of war. He pulled up some sort of encouraging words to dole out. "Dumbledore's not just going to leave everyone out to dry, Sea. Just look at what he did for Dean's family. I'm not going to just lie back either. You're welcome to help if you think it will take your mind off things."

Seamus straightened his shoulders, turning to look at Harry. "You'd do that?"

Harry nodded. "We're going to need all the help we can get."

Seamus brightened slightly, followed by his cheeks reddening. "Sorry about not believing you earlier, Harry."

"It's alright," Harry accepted. He couldn't afford to make any more enemies this year, and Seamus was someone he generally liked.

"You mean that?" Dean asked, finally seating himself. "You think we can do something?"

Harry made a face, weighing his words carefully. Next to him, Ginny squeezed gently on his forearm to give him the courage he needed; he needed to start recruiting students to his side even if it required giving away some of his opinions on the current status of the war. "I appreciate everything Dumbledore's done for us so far, but I think the tactic he's taking right now is too much defense, not enough offense. He thinks I'm too young to fight. I agree that I'm not ready, none of us are, but I don't think it has anything to do with age. I think it's because he refuses to see our childhood spent fighting a war, and he doesn't want to train us for it."

"He wants to shield us away from the outside world," Ginny summarized.

Dean and Seamus weighed his words for a moment before Dean cleared his throat. "I don't mean to be rude, but hasn't You-Know-Who already tried to kill you? Last year at the tournament?"

Harry sighed heavily. "And first and second year, although Dumbledore covered those up pretty well."

"Geez," Seamus whistled lowly.

"With how many times he's tried to make you snuff it, don't you think he's going to come after you when he comes into the open?" Dean asked slowly. He stepped lightly, making certain he wasn't stepping anywhere out of bounds as he spoke.

Harry nodded. "I think that's pretty close. I think he's going to go for power first, then for me. Dumbledore thinks he can protect me from that, though."

"Till seventh year?" Dean blurted out. He quickly amended his words. "I just don't think You-Know-Who will wait that long. Even your average seventh year doesn't have the training for that. Only aurors do, really. That would take years."

"And you see my problem," Harry mused, happy his friends picked up on his predicament quickly enough. "Dumbledore isn't ready to admit that I'll be an integral part of this war. I don't think he realizes that most of our generation will be as well. He won't train us, though, so here we are. I can't go handing out Team Potter recruitment forms, either, so how I'm supposed to find the people on my side at Hogwarts is truly beyond me."

"Eyes and ears, mate," Dean answered vaguely, shooting him a grin. He was silent for a moment before turning to look up at him with wide eyes. "Would you do it? If there were others, would you train us? You're always top in Defense, you know."

Ginny grinned and elbowed Harry lightly in the stomach. "That's what I keep telling him, but he won't listen to me."

"I don't know when I could," Harry answered truthfully. "Even if it was just us four, Ron and Hermione that were interested, you still need a large space for six people to move around quickly enough. With the war escalating, I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore cracked down on rules this year, too."

Dean grinned at him. "Come on, mate. When have you ever been one to follow the rules? At least think on it?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but he grinned as well. "I'll let you know."


End file.
